


Abandon

by Angelica_Bustle



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate History, Betrayal, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Debauchery, Descent into Madness, Drama, Espionage, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Freedom, French Characters, Golden Age of Piracy, Hedonism, Historical Figures, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Real Events, Knifeplay, Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Occult, Pirates, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sadism, Shooting, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Swordfighting, The Royal Navy, Tragic Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29358657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelica_Bustle/pseuds/Angelica_Bustle
Summary: I am here.How odd. I have always heard those around me to claim that there is only one truth, never more to it. I have never listened though. I chose to speak my own truth, as I saw and searched for only you, an ancient presence that wanders the world, bringing words within the minds of the Sage - and of the Fools.You are a fool to think that you can trust me.The moment is approaching. I am awakening and, with the end of my sleep, so comes the end of my dreams, of my life, of my love andI remember,I remember,I shall always remember your abandon, your leaving,your freedom.I am a fool as well if I believe your statement.'I am here.'_______Of slavery, freedom, sea, piracy, and how love and other numerous complicated relationships turn everything around for an orphan girl inviting herself into the world of pillagers, plunderers and privateers. This isn't her story alone, but the retelling of the lives of great personalities from The Golden Age of Piracy, of how they've wronged and have been wronged, of betrayal and loyalty, courage and cowardice, love and hate, and everything that falls in-between. Truth often hides beneath the veil of myths and legends.
Relationships: "Calico" Jack Rackham/Original Female Character(s), Anne Bonny/"Calico" Jack Rackham, Charles Vane/Original Female Character(s), Jonathan Barnet/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Woodes Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	1. Absolution

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright © 2019 Angelica Bustle  
> The Archive Of Our Own user represented on this site as Angelica Bustle will use this pseudonym as the official name of the author and, therefore, owner of the copyright.  
> All rights containing author's own characters, their families, past, present and/or future are reserved. No part of the material protected by this copyright may be reproduced or utilized in any form, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright owner. Failure to respect the mentioned rules will be reported.  
> I, the author, own the cover picture, the Photoshop and the graphical additions to it.  
> This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, business or places, events or incidents are fictitious. They bear no resemblance to anyone living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.  
> I, the author, do not make any profit off this publication, nor do I ask for it.

Perhaps it is just my need for a small ounce of formality pushing me to define my being, as every person senses they ought to.

I am _alive_.

With this statement I am trying to convince myself of it.

I am.

I am.

I am.

Indeed, breathing and moving are quite the clues to a living human, yet I have just died, so it'll take me some time to realize its meaning - and, evidently, its truth.

For a very long time have I not come to myself and asked about reality. I assume it was because I was afraid of the answer.

I used to consider myself very cautious, cunning, intelligent, kind. Those are though not the tags I am looking for.

I am _dreaming_.

I am _here_.

Yes, those are it. I am definitely dreaming and I am here - I am always here, as 'here' somehow locates my state at all times. I am where I am. Why am I dreaming? Because in no world would there be so cruel people, as to take notice of outlandish presences and still not make them known to the others, but instead choose to become out of land themselves, to have power over the weak, wealth over the poor and accusations over the innocent - innocent not in the eyes of the Law, but in the ones of God, surely, until they are brought by the Devil to do his deeds in order to escape Hell - turning against their own, against free will and equality - and against the unknown, as it seems. The fact that it is only I who kens of this, I am sure to believe that it is only imagination, delusions and illusions that brought me here, also my power of convincing and the art of conversation that made others believe it as well. But where is here? It might very well be a park, a garden, a vacant building or my own mind. Yes, I could very easily be trapped there, in my desperately lying mind.

The mere purpose of me remaining here though is for escape. Even when Destiny was left in my hands, along with Fate that was already there, I knew - it was a chimerical Destiny.

Hence I commit myself to sleep and wait for it to take me to a place without no name, if it trusts well to do so. I personally think it is a great waste of my breath - to live and know it's a dream. To have no true value, to be surrounded by importance and relevance just for the sake of my spirit's utmost wish. As if I'd be truly significant to an impossible - what a definitory word that is for humanity and its essence, impossible - Universe - or to mine, for that matter. As if I was indispensable, but I must confess my lack of role in this play. Not even my mind pays much attention to me and starts a journey on its own.

I've been considering institutionalizing myself, but then I wouldn't be able to be _here_ anymore. I like it here. I like the pleasure, the love, the passion, the curiosity fulfilled with unthinkable answers.

I like the pain, the despair, the separation, the loss and the uncertainty. All this confusion - it makes it seem _alive_. As if _it is_. It is...

I'd also like void, but it is so lacking of any commitment and focus that I think my fear is activated whenever I'm drawn to it. I've been inside it for many a day and it is almost finished. _I finished the void._

I believe I am waking up and, yes, fear is consuming me at the thought of truth. If I am right, then I'll be dead. If I am wrong, then I'll be damned.

But what is the point of everything when, no matter the level of convenience and accuracy, I cannot feel that _I am_ at all? My being depends on yours, you see. But what if - _what if_ \- you're _REM_?

Oh, you'd constantly deceive me, I promise. It's what I'd naturally expect. And imagination meets expectations, am I right?

I cannot help myself to fully enjoy you at random times of borderless limit between real, unreal and surreal. When you materialize and when you evanescence, when you whisper your lies - should they actually be mine? - and, lastly, when you are _not_ here.

But why bother with mysteries unsolved?

  
I know I'm mad; I'm born in madness.


	2. Chapter I: Man in a Coat

**There is no plan. All is hazard. And the only thing that will preserve us is ourselves. The world began in hazard and will end in it.**

**_(_ ** **The Magus _, John Fowles)_**

* * *

_I don't think I've ever had any real luck in life. In fact, what_ is _'luck'? An excuse to use '_ bad _luck'. One way to say 'I was lucky' instead of 'God helped me' or 'I did it on my own', because when we are_ not _lucky - so, when we have_ bad luck _\- we cannot believe it is_ our fault _or that_ God has left us _. Any atheist who becomes an atheist does it because they can't bear with the thought that God_ exists _, but has left them or doesn't consider them_ worthy _of His help. At least, any atheist I've met. I'm not atheist, but like any true atheist, I'm going to say: I've always had a lot of bad luck; but I add: only because of_ me _._

_Thus, what I have in my knowledge so far as being the first time, I was born - or at least there is my first memory - on the Snake Island, when it was not occupied by the British, nor was it a Spanish territory. It was a simple haven for the pirates of the time, but also a shelter for those who were wronged in various corners of the world and forced to become fugitives - and, of course, a heaven of sellers and idlers. A little island, actually, no real buildings or dangerous animals, just greenery as far as your eyes are concerned - I'm telling you now that the term 'snake' was not used literally, but rather figuratively, for in the waters surrounding this patch lived beings considered to be evil and cunning, capable of luring the sailors in general and drowning them in deceptive currents, of killing those seeking destruction, and of saving those who saved in turn; as always, 'snake' won a vague meaning, and that's why I was later called the Black Snake, the girl from Culebra; personally, I think many of these are stories and so I thought then, but I also know of the great truths laid among the legends._

_I don't remember absolutely anything about my parents from that time. Maybe I hadn't known them at all, or didn't get to know them in the short time I had spent with them. Anyway, I know I was not an orphan and, more than that, I was_ loved _. The memories themselves are vague and blurry, images and sounds that mingle with each other even now, except for that cataclysm shortly after I'd turned four. I cannot guarantee the sincerity in the next few lines, for they have been told just by the one who caused the disaster._

_It happened on 19 th July 1699, and my parents - I now assume, from whatever I could grasp from fragile threads of images and scents, that my father was a brunette and my mother a ginger, both of them having the ambition of survival - took me in their arms and started running. I knew someone was coming from the sea and heading toward us, but I could not figure out what could have happened. My parents were not felons, nor were they criminals of any kind, they were making a living from various materials in oriental patterns that they sold to sailors or bargained with for other products, mostly leather or food. It seemed to me an honest livelihood, so I realized that my parents were not the bad ones, but those who were now chasing us. I was accustomed to seeing only libertine and liberal people navigating those banks, so encountering such animals in red coats seemed quite strange to me. Obviously, I was scared._

_At one point my dad left me near a relatively tall tree, right in front of a water where I'd always believed lived crocodiles. It was an oasis, so to say, with crystalline waves that could lure any man thirsty for sweet water to take a sip - but it was poisoned._

_"Stay here", my father said, "and we'll come after you." I believed him. My mother kissed both cheeks and my forehead, lengthening the moment more than she was allowed, as though she was not so sure of dad's affirmation. I didn't know what she could have been so frightened of. I knew her as a warrior, a woman who was out of any situation, being the only one on the island who could negotiate better than any man without really using the female charm. I do not remember telling her anything then, but she whispered to me that she loved me, and she assured me once again that they would return very quickly for me, but that they had to find a shelter first._

_Now, knowing what followed, I think they both knew what would have happened if the red-coats caught all three of us - they would have executed both of them right in front of me. And they certainly knew they would have caught us, no matter what my parents had knowledge of about the island; they were, after all, amongst the very few who had decided to stay on it and call it 'home', of all those who had been carving it over the years. But then they left and hoped that the enemies - enemies by happenstance, and by_ bad luck _, as they seemed - to be merciful to me and eventually take me out into the world, give me a chance to live without fear of execution, fear of death, and of its awaiting._

_So the first man I saw in the woods - maybe it would be more correct to call it jungle - was Lieutenant Winston, a man in the flower of life, perhaps around forty, with a wide and strong body and deep lines brazing his sun-tanned face and a black English wig. His eyes were shining as I had never seen at anyone before, as if the sight of me gave him more satisfaction than catching my parents. He approached a wide range to me and lifted a hand to signal his people to wait for his orders, given that their crossbows were already on their shoulders and ready to fire. They were strange to look at, these people, all dressed the same, all with the same expression of false determination that would cover their fear and the cowardice that would dominate their nature if they were allowed to do so. They did not want to be there, and I'm sure they cared little about the non-Catholics they were supposed to catch, imprison, kill. They were just simple people who were working as a crowd, hoping to get a position to help their families in one way or another. Because, yes, that was partially why we were being chased - we were not Catholic._

_The Lieutenant leaned over me when he was close enough, keeping his jingle, probably because I kept my searching and fearless posture; I don't realize why I wasn't afraid at that moment, because I'm not a courageous one, at least not when I'm faced with a physical danger that is right in front of me and into my soul, whispering down my neck: '_ Run. Hide.' _Finally, as I was saying, Winston - because I found out pretty quickly who he was - was playing the good Samaritan, and I had the sense not to look nastily at him, and just listened._

 _"Tell me, little one, where are your parents?" When I didn't say anything, he tried again, "Don't worry, the guns are not for them. We came to_ defend _them."_

 _"_ Nimenea nu fugu di strajă. _" The smile froze on his thick face. Maybe he did not expect me to understand him, or maybe he did not understand me. I knew exactly what he had said, but I was still too small to be able to answer in what was then a universal language. I was, after all, four years old._

_He drew his hand slightly over my head, where the hair was unwashed, unkept, and overall messy, by the fact that I leaned against the bark of the tall tree. He eventually decided to lower his palm to gently caress me, with some kind of sadness on his face, though I did not know if it was meant for me or for himself. He said quietly and without hatred or passion, "Retract your guns", and his men subdued, with a slight confusion on the otherwise erased expressions._

_Winston squeezed his sharp, full lips and frowned his dark, thick, long, arched eyebrows. He reminded me of a conquistador, but I was sure he could only be an Englishman. He then noticed the water near which I was sitting. He withdrew his hand and took out a drained bottle, which was covered with salt from the damp sea air. It could be seen that he had a long journey, probably all the way from London, or who knows what other important city in Europe. The others in the Navy were also looking at the water and two of them were approaching. Probably the trip had been longer than the reserves, and this could be observed on dry lips, covered by a cracked white skin that made everyone look sickly. Winston leant over the water and stretched his hand with the bottle to fill it, but something inside me, or perhaps an outer and unknown force, perhaps even_ Destiny _pushed me to grab his arm fast - some of it, rather the coat, my hands were very small, especially compared to his muscular flesh - and he stopped suddenly and looked at me with a self-implied question understood in his very ordinary eyes compared to the rest of his figure. So I replied, "_ Apa di atsia aduce numa morte oaminjilor ca tini. _" He grew even harder on my words, and I could swear that an astral wisdom unthinkingly mastered me, or perhaps possessed me at that moment, and put words in my mouth._

 _"_ Muerta _?" He paused and stared at the corner of his eye at his two men who were approaching without his command, as if testing their intelligence, then turned his gaze to me, "Death?" I nodded. Now he was already on the soiled grass, not taking account of rank and manners - as if such people ever have manners and no claims of civilization in a world in which civilization means war, hatred, crime and control. Finally, he asked me, "Where are you from, little girl?" I said nothing to him, because I knew not how to. "What's your family name?"_

_I thought a little, like in a game I never played with anyone, and I said, "Vurvot."_

_After he had gathered his thoughts, he immediately signaled to his men to stand, not to move and to take care of me, then suddenly looked up among the trees where my parents ran to, as if he had seen them. I knew that not to be true though. He stood up and pulled his pistol out of his sheath, headed it up to the heavens and to the crenellations above our heads. I watched him walk around the water and sink into the forest._

_It was a minute or less, and there was total silence; but suddenly, a loud bang - a shot. Shortly after that, another one. After that, again quiet._

_The man came back relatively quickly, and my heart was about to deafen me, for I did not know what to believe. "Come on, let's go!" He told his people, "Raise the anchor and prepare the route for the nearest port, we need water urgently!" He had walked about five feet away, so he turned his head and signaled for me to get up. "Come", and grabbed my hand with his harsh one. "I'll teach you a lot, kid, I need as many as you as they come at the farm." I looked up at him. "And I'll explain everything I know to you", he added. I did not know if I should leave, but I knew it would be bad to stay, so I followed him without saying a word, and when I left the wooded area, I was blinded by the strong rays of the sun that was now in the middle of the sky, wandering my way to a ship painted in blue and yellow, but I didn't see its name on the board. It was like any other Navy ship: trivial, common, executive._


	3. Chapter II: Rich World Studies

**One of the great fallacies of our time is that the Nazis rose to power because they imposed order on chaos. Precisely the opposite is true - they were successful because they imposed chaos on order. They tore up the commandments, they denied the super-ego, what you will. They said, 'You may persecute the minority, you may kill, you may torture, you may couple and breed without love.' They offered humanity all its great temptations. Nothing is true, everything is permitted.**

**_(_ The Magus _, John Fowles)_**

* * *

_I climbed on a lacquered wood ladder, shining and smelling of fresh, chemical and polluting. I disliked this false superiority in the rank of these people, but I knew that only with them could I survive, at least for a while. I grabbed the Lieutenant's hand as I reached the deck, and people stared at me with doubt clear in their eyes, but they said nothing. I was thinking of one thing: it should be easy enough for me there. I finally arrived at the Captain's cabin - this was, of course, Winston - and for the first time I looked at the earthly globe, sat like a trophy on a wide, square table, full of maps and writing and measuring objects - compasses, calibers, rulers. A warm light filled the room, and the air was muscled, probably from Lieutenant's cologne. He then sat down on the bed beside the desk and looked at me thoughtfully. I was still looking at the maps. "How did your parents use to call you?" I did not know how to explain it. I had the feeling that my parents had never called me by my name and didn't know whether they'd managed to baptize me, but given the many fugitives who had visited the island, some priests were surely among them. I looked closely at every painting in the cabin, loading to find an icon. Failing, I was satisfied with a framed painting hanging on a wall behind me. My insistence drew Winston's attention. "You like it?" He asked, rising up and approaching the painting, with a sort of flicker on his face, "It's not the original da Vinci and del Verrocchio, but it's very close", he turned his gaze to me and noticed I was intently looking at the picture. He tried to figure that out again and raised a rusty eyebrow toward me._

_"_ Anghil _", I said, pointing to the angel in the picture._

_"An angel, yes," he said puzzled. "Is that your name?" I hesitated to give an answer, but it was the closest to a name that I'd heard from my parents, who'd used to always spoil me. I nodded slightly. "Angel... Do you mind me calling you Angelica? It's better that way." I signalled that I didn't mind. "Good. Good. Angelica Vurvot." He sat thinking, arms crossed over his chest and looked at the floor, then back to the painting. He looked suddenly at me, "Now, try to rest. I see you understand English quite well, I'll soon be teaching you to speak it as well. I'll be back in a few hours with food. At the farm, I'll explain a lot more then", he took my hand and led me to the bed with an indulgence in the eyes that seemed sincere, "Make yourself comfortable, for now this cabin is yours only." He urged me to change myself into the newer and finer clothes his second brought, while he was standing with his back turned, not that I knew anything of intimacy. When I finished, he covered me with an Egyptian sheet that he told me he had spent many guineas on, then went out of the room, throwing a "Try to sleep" at me and locking it behind. I did not like to sleep too much when I was little. I felt like losing the precious time otherwise meant for discovery. But as Winston closed the door to the cabin, I instantly fell asleep, fatigue and anxiety making me slip into a gentle, dreamy trance that seemed a pleasant interruption of events. I woke up the next day, close to sunrise - so I had slept for twenty hours. A tiny window over the desk next to the bed basked me in the reddish light transiting the glass. Winston stood on a chair, examining his maps for the first time since I had woken up. He did not seem to notice me, though he might have._

_I did not ponder much on our journey, but I did a lot of thinking. There was a stop for supplies, then we continued our path to Winston's 'farm', which I did not understand too much about. For a moment, I thought he would adopt me, but it was so strange that I decided not to stay too long on this idea. When we finally anchored, after about three weeks, I saw that I was again on an island, much bigger than Culebra. It was somewhat more open to a greener green, with fewer and smaller trees that I couldn't call arbors or palms. They were planted linearly, in a structured, disciplined pattern. It was only part of the island, I realized, because it was a culture, perhaps even a viticulture, on a hillside just off the shore that I descended on. We walked for a bit, then we met a carriage waiting at a crossroad for the six of us - for Winston, me, and other two who were carrying a trunk that probably contained a few books, maps and clothes, and two other armed men, who I think intended to protect their Lieutenant. I climbed into the carriage - I personally got mounted in it by Winston - and I felt a strong synthetic smell coming from the artificial material on the bench I was sitting on. A couple of hours had passed and the carriage suddenly stopped to a halt, almost making me fall out of my place. I got off - also with help - and followed Winston amongst the stones that roamed the way to an estate guarded with a tall, tufted fence. The logs were natural, I realized - of roses and briers - and they were clearly meant to hold someone out - or_ in _._

_"You will have a room to sleep", said the Lieutenant, "I hope you do not mind the company of another girl here, she's a not much older than you." I thought then it would be nice to have a sister. I entered the house - it was a neat, polished, golden foil on the improvement between cream walls and stylish, red mahogany furniture. It gave me a sense of formal reception, but I was pleased. I liked it clean. Every dusty house is deplorable. The cabin where I was used to staying in with my parents was small, simple, but always clean and really welcoming._

_I had nothing with me but the clothes I was already wearing, so I went into my room - the fourth to the right on the first floor -, which was open. "Dinner is in two hours, try to accommodate until." I walked in and saw a little girl no taller than me, with messy golden curls on her round head. She was dressed in a simple tutu, as beige as the house, camouflaged, with her back to me. Only when she turned did I see blue eyes like the sky during the storm. She was holding in her hands a doll with needles in it, made from rags. She looked curiously, threw a fugitive smile, and returned to her play. The room was small, but the bed was large, for two. I sat down on it. My legs did not reach the floor, but I noticed the softness of the mattress that I was staying on. I watched the little girl for a long time, and she looked at me once in a while, curious but also confused. I was pleased to simply watch her, knowing she couldn't understand me - my language, that is. At one point, the little girl rose from her chair and began folding clothes in a corner of the room. She took another look at me and I took that as a sign to approach her. She gave me a stack of twenty lady dresses - clearly not hers. "We all have a role here", she smiled a shy smile and hoped that I understood. I froze briefly at her words but quickly began to copy her movements. Frankly, I was not accustomed to such materials. What my parents were making and selling was softer, simpler, easier to clothe, so much easier to fold. I figured out how to do it by the fifth dress though and so I spent the rest of the evening._

_Winston came to call us for dinner. I descended the spiral staircase that I'd climbed before and reached the dining room where a long, glossy table stood, surrounded by ten chairs. I and the little girl were the first to reach those chairs. I sat down, but I saw that she did not. I looked at Winston to see if he had any objections and saw none, so I remained seated. Slowly, the room was filled with five more children, all older than us. In fact, I was the youngest. When they began to sit down, then the little girl sat down. Winston, at one of the table ends, stood upright, staring at the free chair at the other head. There were two free chairs, but the one beside me seemed non-existent, unimportant, unmistakable. In about two minutes, a boy - a young man - joined us running at the table, muffling an 'Excuse me, father' and settling quickly in the head seat. His father - Winston, apparently - looked with some despair at him and said without formalities: "Kids... Alex", he looked at his son, who just now remarked me, "From now on you will have a new sister - her name is Angelica and she is four years old; she does not know English yet, but she understands it and I will start teaching her lessons tomorrow, hoping that in one year we can communicate like civilians", looked at me and I gave a nod; he smiled, "I wish you_ bon appetit _. Milly cooked duck." Milly then entered the room and brought a large plateau, decorated with fresh vegetables and smelling divine. I hadn't realized how hungry I was. Milly was a full-bodied but not fat, black, young and lively woman with big eyes and a little frightened ones at that. She was sprawled in movement, but careful not to get her hands clumsy, with a fear of her master, but with respect as well. We all ate in silence, but there was no uneasiness in it. I could barely get to the cutlery, but I could handle it and knew how to use a knife. I was happy. When I finished, Milly returned to gather the dishes. We got up and Winston led us and my roommate - well, to our room._

_"We always wake up at eight in the morning, and go to our dorms at ten in the evening. Tomorrow we start English lessons. If you're eager and hard-working, I'll assure you a good living." He smiled, and left the room._

_"Ahem." I turned and looked at the little girl, staring at me and waiting for something. Finally, she took a step toward me and stretched out her right hand, "Barbara. Pleased to meet you... Angelica?" I hesitated, but I nodded, and grasped Barbara's hand with a sour smile on my lips. "You will feel good here," she added, "I have always been here." We slept, each on her bedside. The next day I woke up at eight sharp, just like every day thereafter. I didn't learn English in one year, but in half. I was an ambitious student, willing to understand as much as possible. Winston - or George, as he'd told me to call him - was glad to teach me, besides English, also French and Spanish, and I had slowly forgotten my native language. I have learnt mathematics - arithmetics, geometry and trigonometry - but also history and geography, which have become the preferred subjects. He told me that he didn't know chemistry, but he had many books and I could learn by myself. I became passionate and I knew all the plants and substances I could use to wash clothes, discolour them, disinfect wounds and relieve mild illnesses - obviously combining knowledge with herbology. I was attracted to mysticism, astronomy and astrology, to religion. I was Orthodox, but I studied many religions. I was advanced for my age - I was eleven years old - but I didn't care about anything other than my studies and behavioral observations of George, Alex - only from a distance - and Barbara. Milly seemed to me a warm person with naïve cleverness, who knew how to speak correctly just because she had been living with a wealthy man who did not aggress her - I had doubts about Alex though. Hence, I was emotionally bound only to her and my dear roommate. However kind George must have seemed at the time, my heart knew it not. It only felt cold, and rather unimpressed, whenever he showered me in fatherly love - he was not my father; that who had once been my father, he had either killed or sent away._

_And it was 1706 now..._


	4. Chapter III: Behold, The Flames of Salvation

**There comes a time in each life like a point of fulcrum. At that time you must accept yourself. It is not any more what you will become. It is what you are and always will be. You are too young to know this. You are still becoming. Not being.**

**_(_ The Magus _, John Fowles)_**

* * *

_What I liked most about Winston's farm was the sun. He had told me we were in a private territory on Samana Island, which had been inhabited for over two hundred years, when Columbus was supposed to have landed here. It was the perfect space for the intimacy that George wanted._

_I'd never worried about my own safety, because we were George's favourite and we intended to remain his favourite until he died or until we left. Somehow, I knew my Destiny was not staying at a farm growing corn and wild boar brought from a neighbouring island. Something attracted me with an infinite force to the endless ocean I'd traveled only once on when I came here._

_However, I was worried for Milly and Barbara. Alex, George's son, was extremely aggressive with Milly, being the only one who called her by her whole name - Millicent. I had often noticed how he cornered her between the walls of the house outside, while she was carrying a laundry basket to the washing room or a serving one for those working in the field; nothing more._

_Over time, I'd realized that older children than us, girls and boys, were disappearing as they advanced in age. They were put to physical labour - like the plowing, the feeding of the pigs - or they were in Alex's care, which I avoided at all costs if I could, and so did he; the quarrels between him and his father were frequent, Alex being a delinquent who only cared about this small farm business, completely disinterested in entering the Royal Army or the Navy, like George. The only ones left alone were Barbara and I. She was doing ironing, blazing and cooking along with Milly, while I was accompanying George everywhere, whether it was a business, whether he was in his room, arranging maps, planning his voyages with him, or even reading extracts from the books that seemed to me interesting. He often looked at me long, with a warmth in his dark eyes, with evidence of the traits slightly swept by the years that had passed, always in the evening, before I went to sleep, when I'd leave my hair down and would stay by a candle in the chair in front of him. The shift in the atmosphere would be clear, evidence of ideas popping into his brain, soon to be swept away, not allowed to take root. In those moments I expected something, anything, to change, but everything remained the same. George'd say, tiredly "Go to bed, my girl" and would put out the candle, guiding me with a hand on my back outside of his room, to the hall that was still lit._

_Barbara would spend much time with Alex. I considered him dangerous, maybe even greedy in terms of pleasure, and she was thirteen. She disliked Alex, but she always told me he was her master, and if he wanted her to do something, she had to do it. I was lucky, because I always did what I wanted and nobody forced me to do anything._

_One day, as I was headed for the kitchen, I heard muffled groans from the guest room; some thin, planted squeals, then some animal sounds, low, equally clogged. I had my suspicions and read a lot. I knew I did not have to go interrupt them, but I had a bitter feeling._

_Someone pulled me away, right into the kitchen._

_"Milly."_

_"Missus!"_

_I put a hand on my chest, "Why?" and I looked in the direction of the guest room._

_"Oh, Missus, ya'll understand a' some point, but we ain't gotta go press our noses to the window, that I learnt on me skin." At these words I looked carefully at the black woman, who had a line of sweat on her forehead and tears in her eyes reddened by sleeplessness, tired of a thousand years time, with arms bare and, only now seeing, bruised almost completely. I raised my hand lightly and touched her left, naked, sensitive arm, which, although worked to the bone, was all fibre._

_"It will be alright, Milly," I said, trying to form a convincing smile, as I was taught, "Barbara is even more hopeful than I, I'd even go as far as say she's got a plan or knows something."_

_"Miss Angelica, even if I get outta here, I've no place to go. The island is isolated from any population."_

_"As far as I know, nothing is isolated from the world as long as the world knows how to reach it", and, leaving Milly with a glimpse of my eyes, I headed for the table, took a piece of cheese and bread, ate and went out the door, but not before telling Milly to make some bags of supplies._

_That night, coming out of George's room, I went back and looked at him as long as he looked at me._

_"Something wrong, Angelica?"_

_"No..."_

_"But?" He stood in the door, with his arms crossed, with a little hope in his eyes, which I decided to ignore._

_"Your son, Alex. I know why there are so many kids brought here and why they all disappear after a while. Alex is hasty, impulsive, demanding, he will trigger reactions no one here wants."_

_George became extremely serious and looked at his naked feet on the Persian rug in his room, then back to me. "There is nothing I can do. I can only face the consequences." He stretched out his right hand and gathered my shoulder from which a part of the nightgown had fallen. "Go to bed now, Angelica." I got out of his chambers and I went. Before I entered my room, I finally heard George's door closing shut._

_Barbara was not inside. It took me at least an hour to fall asleep, trying to remember every corner there was - paper, ink, quill; food, water, clothing; maps and documents; they all were in that room where I was sleeping, waiting._

_I suddenly woke up. Someone was shaking me. I saw red lights out the window and was feeling dizzy._

_"Come on, Angelica, get up!" Barbara rocked me harder now. I rose suddenly and was even dizzier than before. "Come, come!" She pulled my hand and gave me two bags, both filled with papers. I ran with her down the stairs, and immediately came out of the house that had become hot as hell - a fire._

_My legs were numb from sleep and now they were hurting and itching._

_I turned my gaze back to the house and saw the flames that covered it whole. It was past midnight, and while the fire was consuming the wood that bordered on it, we sensed the cue that woke us - curious, curious._

_"What have you done, Barbara?" She was silent, scared but determined to survive. "Where's Milly?"_

_"I have not sighted her." I swallowed a sigh._

_"George?"_

_"I have not sighted him."_

_I took a step back to see better. I pulled Barbara aside, in case any of the remaining children or a surviving servant saw us and could have suspected arson._

_"Where has the fire started from?" I looked into her eyes. She paused, looked down, then her eyes fell in front of her._

_"From the guest room."_

_I stood there, in a ravine next to the corn field that bloomed well in that early summer, shining in the golden light of the flames. I did not feel bad about the household, for I was not attached to it. I did not even feel sorry for those who had been brought to the farm a week before, for they were all the same: submissive, sad, hopeless, willless, with an emptiness desiring to be dominated. They were perfect in George's eyes. Perfect, at least, for his business. And for him, I felt pity._

_I was sorry for Milly. So sorry, that a tear ran on my left cheek while I was looking at her room next to the kitchen, and I was wondering whether she had understood the message and run out before us._

_It was morning or nearly. The sky had become a gray-blue, and the smoke that remained after the fire blended in it like an oil painting. I sighed once, and I took off one of my bags, for Barbara had two, a ladle, a cauldron, and a piece of old papyrus. I thought then why I hadn't gotten normal paper, but I knew it was more perishable and that we needed something strong. The ink was black, it had mopped the lid and, with it, my hand. I went through the second bag containing acts and letters. The most recent, dated 11 th May, 1706, was signed Captain John Rackham, and the writing was young, unformed, but intelligent and gathered. I read it out loud:_

_"Esteemed Lieutenant Winston,  
I am honored to be under your command as Captain of the newly rebuilt _Marlborough _and I entrust myself with my services and your commanders.  
I understand from my superior, Commodore William Chasteburry, that I and my crew are waiting on your 17th June planting on the island of Samana for a load of boar and corn cobs.  
We are currently positioned in the Turks and Caicos Islands in Cockwork Town.  
I am waiting for your letter of agreement.  
By then, sincerely,  
Captain John Rackham of _HMS Marlborough _. "_

_Now it was only 22 th May and the letter had arrived the day before, meaning that the road between the two islands took ten days. Waiting until 17th June was impossible, because we did not have enough food for a month; we barely had it for two weeks, which meant we had to do somehow for twenty days, in the best of cases. From what I had realized, this Rackham had never corresponded with George, so he couldn't've known his writing. I picked it up and I dipped it in the ink that was a little clotted. Barbara didn't say anything. Probably already knew what I was to do._

Honourable Captain Rackham,  
I have received your letter with great pleasure and I am certain the business shall follow as expected.  
There is, however, a fact I ask of you, which alters the original plan.  
Due to the high heat, this season corn will start to dry more intensively than on average, so I plea with you to try a trip by 10th June, so none of us should be at a disadvantage.  
I am waiting for your arrival.  
Respectfully,  
Lt. George Winston

_"You need a seal," Barbara reminded me. I had wax, I had candles and matches, I had the pattern ring on George's finger that I took the night before. I took an envelope, put the letter in, and wound it with wax, with the pattern on the ring._

_"Which's the pig?" I asked Barbara. We then left the bags in the ditch and we went to the barn, which hadn't burnt. I kept the letter in my hand, tight, but without wrinkling it. Coming in, I saw that a single horse out of four had escaped and fled during the blaze, which left us with three - one for me, one for Barbara, one for luggage. The boar were all loaded, not having enough power to break the doors - it was not just_ any _barn._

_Barbara'd had the inspiration to pack a couple scraps of food to give to the pigs while we were checking out which of them was the one. A smaller pig, not yet for the slaughter, cowardly and reclusive, which, after I gave it to eat and drink, I tied with a leather strap around its snout. Barbara had a small bobbin on her, which looked very full and both of us knew how important it was._

_I took the three horses and the boar, put the luggage on one of the horses - a brown, mountie's horse - and we hopped on the other two. I especially, being shorter, had difficulties._

_We then headed for the port to send the letter as an emergency, and not to stand by the remains of the house, and beside an infernal smell of burned meat, rancery and rats._

_In about two hours - I think it was already noon - we arrived at the harbour. Normally, we would have arrived much faster, but we didn't know how to ride, and the horses didn't know how to be ridden, since they were accustomed to a carriage. However, they were nice and beautiful horses, and I could care for them more than for the people left behind._

_Barbara, being taller and older, descended from her horse and took the letter, walking blandly and fastidiously to a port guard with whom she spoke a few minutes. I could see only her golden locks, long, ruffled, and the voluptuous shapes that narrowed her thin middle and long legs. She reminded me of a feline, ready to attack, either to defend herself or to hunt. I also saw the face of the guard, of about forty years old, but aged by the profession, who changed his eyes alarmingly quickly, totally, to a deep pleasure. He glanced at a nearby empty cabin and pointed to it. Barbara turned to me, with a stunning smile on her thin, luscious lips. I did not understand at once about what it was about, but I got it once Barbara went into the cabin with the man and they came back together in a quarter of an hour. I was terrified of what Barbara had done and I was certain she could've solved the situation in another way. It was, after all, his_ job _to receive letters and pass them to the postman. I was looking at this thirteen-year-old girl, well-developed for her age, with a Parisian air on her confident face, approaching again._

 _"See the cabin there?" And she showed me to the one she just came out of and the door to which the guard was left, his cheeks and his neck slightly reddened. I nodded. "There we stay until that Captain Rackham comes to_ rescue _us," and laughed, "We take all our things with us and we tie the horses and the piglet outside to the pillars. It's the guard's cabin, but he has the day shift and there's only one guard, so he doesn't really need a place to stay during work." She had a decent and proud smile now. And I was now calmer, but I was thinking about Barbara's bobbin. I looked briefly at it, and she winked at me a little leewardly, an 'I've got everything under control' sign. Perhaps we both were pretending to be smarter than we were and more experienced, but I think it was a wiser choice than to be afraid we weren't enough of that. We quickly installed ourselves in the crowded cabin for two people, and I fell asleep immediately, tired after a sleepless night._

_The days that followed quickly passed, monotonously, with the food we had taken disappearing too fast for our needs. I also always left something for the pig, and the horses would graze alone in the surroundings. I thought for a moment that we'd better join them, rather than risk having a hungry pig, but then I thought we were, first of all, the ones meant to survive._

_On 10 th June, before the sun rose, I lit a candle in the cabin and pulled out a map. Of all the foreign languages, I knew Spanish and French to perfection. I had no intention of staying in British territory for a while, and the Spaniards were too impulsive, volcanic. France was a good place, and Barbara would have been greatly integrated, with her bohemia and her body. I didn't know if we would get there, but, just in case, I said Étretat would be a good town - ocean, churches, greenery._

_I woke Barbara up._

_"Let's feed the pig. Take your borseta."_

_In a matter of hours, a large, armed-to-the-top ship belonging to West Indies Trade Company anchored in the harbor. We hadn't had food for ourselves in over a day, and the water was almost gone as well._

_A boy came out of the ship first and if he hadn't had the captain's hat on his head, I would've taken him as a first mate or a cabin boy, because he had this peculiar sparkle in his eyes that showed he was raw, free, clever and incredibly_ thrilling _, which made me fret a bit for Barbara. The boy was young, indeed, perhaps sixteen years old and no more, and I didn't know how he could've gotten the captaincy in the Navy. Had he stolen the ship and was not, in fact, the Captain Rackham that we'd been waiting for? However, what I had before my eyes and the writing matched. It was clear that he had not sent an answer since he would have arrived along with it. He was there, yes, and we were there too, and the pig was there with us, and I had a location and I was quickly mentally searching for a name. He descended slightly imprecisely, but with a certain energy, and, when he touched the land, he looked me straight in the eyes and leant his head unspeakably as a sign of question:_ Why were we there, and not Lieutenant Winston?

_I rushed to grab his hand and rightened my dress in the places where it was siphoned; I had to be presentable so that our plan would work._

_"'Ello,_ Monsieur _Rackham?"_

_"Captain Rackham, I am", and he smiled, kissing my hand, "Excuse me, but", he glanced at Barbara, "I'm looking for a gentleman, Winston. Did he send you? "_

_"In a way, come with me and we'll explain."_

_I sat him at a wooden table outside, and he put his chin in his fists, looking over his straight and long nose, beneath his fine eyebrows, and the dark, thick, lashes. I took a minute to study his appearance - the black, curly hair, almost reaching his shoulders, was partly caught in a bun and his head was covered with a scarf that was visible now that he put his hat down. He didn't have his ears pierced and he was clean, which made me more trustful about his identity. A specimen, he was._

_"Waiting."_

_"Well..._ oui _", I took a big breath, and continued, "_ Monsieur _, you 'ave to 'elp us. First of all-eh, excuse us", he raised a thin, arrogant eyebrow, but he did not say anything, "You see, we are the ones 'o sent you the last_ lettre _. We were really in the care of_ Monsieur _Winston, but we are not 'is relatives, or 'is daughters. The_ raison _we are the ones now 'ere, not 'im, is because the_ Lieutenant _is dead." Rackham did not sketch anything, not even the amusement in his eyes disappeared, but one of his hands slipped from under the chin and was placed under the table on both of my hands in my lap. I jerked at the contact with warm and smooth skin, and a shiver ran through my spine, making me lower my eyes for a second. Barbara put her hands on the table, showing that they were empty, and then Rackham withdrew his and nodded, signalling me to continue. I wound my voice, which had gotten stuck in my throat, "It was a_ feu _at the farm in the middle of the night, Barbara and I are the only survivants we know. The boar are fine, so are the corn and these 'orses", I pointed out to them, "I 'ope you... are still interested in_ Lieutenant _Winston's business."_

 _I waited for about five minutes until Rackham spoke again, not changing his position, his gaze. "You have told me until now who you are_ not _, yet I want to know who you_ are _. Can you help me with an answer?" His voice had become ironic and I was afraid. Although he was not much older than us, he was certainly more mature, more experienced._

_I decided to opt for a truth I had not spoken before._

_"_ Monsieur _Rackham", his eyes brightened and I realized that the Captain's position was new and important to him, so I filed this information for the future, "We are_ esclaves _."_

_Silence._

_The smile attempt on the boy's tight and full lips was wiped off like a footprint on the sand after a wave._

_"You see, uh", said Barbara, before Rackham could answer something, "we want to be free again. Although we cared for our masters and the incident as it was has destroyed everything we've come to know, we want a_ life _. To live for_ us _, not for others._ _We are_ young _, Mr. Rackham." Then she moved slightly to discover her shoulder beneath a salon that she had brought with herself. Rackham stared pointedly at this shoulder, then back at me._

 _"What do_ you _say?"_

 _"_ Je _?" I readjusted my position. "I say,_ Capitaine _Rackham, that if you love_ liberté _as much as we do, then you will 'elp us."_

_And that's what he did._

_After we loaded the bags and the pig onto the boat - God knows how much worries I'd make for that pig - I suggested that we ride up to the farm to bring the rest of the pigs - five in number - and a part of the corn. Three pigs bound to Rackham, two to Barbara plus a few pounds of corn, and the rest of the cobs to me. The road was quicker and in two hours we were back at the harbour. It was a strong sun in the afternoon, and my skin reddened a little. I looked at Rackham, who was uniformly tanning with a golden bronze, very clean, very smooth._

_We got on the ship with all the load, and I realized that, besides Rackham, eight people were still on it, obviously needed to operate it, even if in a rather smaller number that average, probably due to the youth of the Captain. I did not know what to say about this, but when Rackham showed us the cabin where we were going to sleep, I was called, as it was right next to his. He seemed to know what he was doing, what was at stake. He believed in our cause enough._

_Immediately after we had lifted the anchor, while I was alone in his cabin to look over the maps, he asked me a simple question: "Who and where?"_

_I stared in his eyes._

_"Margot Févron, Etrêtat, France."_

_He knew what he was doing, what was at stake, he believed in our cause, and I was lying to him._


	5. Chapter IV: Old Buildings, Novelty in Freedom

**Think. In a minute from now you could be saying, I risked death. I threw for life, and I won life. It is a very wonderful feeling. To have survived.**

**_(_ The Magus _, John Fowles)_**

* * *

_Absolutely none of the nice weapons on the cabinet wall of Captain Rackham's scared me, disgusted me, inferiorized me. Until now, I had witnessed a lot of George's business meetings to figure out when a rifle is really aimed for killing and when only for intimidation - Winston was a bold negotiator and sometimes crossed the limits of people, and his own limits were nonexistent._

_I stood right in front of Rackham, who was staring at me in front of the table full of maps, and motioned for me with two fingers to approach him. I did, and, standing up, I looked at him, somewhat distantly, to make sure that I could trust him. Such a stranger, and yet he had helped me and Barbara much more than those we'd been calling our family for years. However, something did not leave me in peace:_

_"If you're going to Étretat now, 'ow will your trip justify your days spent at sea?" I knew there was not a proper answer to this question, so that it would make me feel like Captain Rackham would not lose his job. I felt sorry that a boy - even if he was older than us, he was still very young - was to waste his whole future for two poor slaves. Also, my thoughts added, "What would you want from us as a_ récompense _?"_

_The Captain stood looking at me for a few minutes, that same glimmer, yet cold look in his eyes. Did he believe my story, accent, identity? Did he care about these things at all?_

_"Margot", he finally breathed, swinging his right hand to touch my cheek in a comfort that flashed me, though his fingers were warm, almost hot like the flame burning on the candle on the table, "You haven't to worry about me. As you say, survival is what matters." He let his hand fall into his lap and he put his hat down, rubbing his visibly tired eyes and rising, now standing in front of me. I would have wanted to take a step back, but I thought it wasn't good to show my uncertainty at such a moment. Eventually, he stepped around his seat and unhooked his jacket, which fell silently on the bed. I swallowed and sat down instead on the chair, staring seemingly distracted over the maps. I saw the route to the west coast of France, and the hope grew in my heart like a flower after a heavy winter._

_Barbara was in her room, sorting things in the suitcases that Rackham had given us an hour before. I could not believe the ease with which she chose to forget everything that had happened and managed to enjoy newly found freedom. Sure, I was happy too, maybe this is a word even inferior to the true feeling, but I knew there was still a lot of time until I could put my bare foot on the grass, until I walked on the fine beach of Étretat, until I won my own money and I lived my own burden, without anyone else ensuring my freedom of choice and responsibility. Yes, free, alone, away. A beautiful dream._

_A hand on my shoulder, dressed in the sleeve of a most precious gown that George had ever given me - brown, velvet, with a sharp V-cut - made me lose my thoughts and look at the Captain, who, for the first time in two weeks, looked at me with some uncertainty, an uncertainty that aged him and flattened him in my eyes. I did not know if the look was meant for me or himself, and I did not care - my life belonged to me at last, and his, well... in the end, he would follow a separate course._

_"How did they treat you?" A shorter rebellious knot fell into his left eye, propelling itself to the nose that had a trace of sweat at the base, as after a hard day._

_"Why do you wish to know?" I felt so small, I stood in the chair and he was standing behind me. Too small to hold a little pebble like me all the secrets I'd built up, and I hoped they wouldn't spill out of my mouth if this boy cornered me even more._

_"People are not cargo."_

_A tear ran out of the corner of my right eye, threatening to puncture my cheek. I broke the visual contact with the man for a second, finally realizing the seriousness of my situation, but also how protected I had been until then. I took a lot of air in my chest. "I 'ave been treated with great_ respect _over the years and learnt a little bit of all", I moved my eyes over the maps, then back to those who were behind me, "Barbara was not as_ respecté _._ _She 'as learnt to cope in one of the most_ déplaisant _ways." There was no smile on Rackham, who was now serious and cold as a statue. I realized then that, all the while, he held his hand tight on my shoulder, but I had gotten used to it and did not feel it anymore. He took it, hesitating, and moved it to my back, leading me to the door._

_"Try to rest, Miss Févron. Good night."_

_In two steps I was back in my room._

_"What took so long?" An indignant Barbara asked me when I got in._

_"Do not tell me that after all these years you haven't gotten bored with me", I replied in a playful tone, but I heard the fatigue in my voice. In three weeks, we would reach our destination, after which everything was done._

_Barbara slammed off her bed on my bed and dragged me on it, making me land somewhere on a pillow. I looked upset at her, even if I did not feel annoyed, and I rose again to change into my night clothes. I was not ashamed of her seeing me - we'd been roommates for seven years._

_After I thought I was ready to finally relax my muscles on the soft mattress, I stood beside Barbara, who laid her head on my chest, letting me caress the loose curls._

_"Don't you think of Milly at all?" I asked after a while, considering that, although it was too late, the girl was not yet asleep. I was right, for her head stilled in a temporary hindrance, then it was soft on my chest again, and a deep sigh was heard._

_"You don't know much about me and Milly, do you?" She didn't look at me, but if she had, I knew her expression would have been sad, as I rarely saw it. I didn't say anything and let her go on. "My mother was the mistress of Milly before she died. I've never told you about mum, isn't that so, Angelica?"_

_"That's right." I didn't know whether I truly wanted to hear a story from which Barbara might have broken down. I didn't know if the connection the two of us had was enough for me to hear out such a story. But I did know this was one way to ensure my friend would feel even a slight bit better, so I let her speak._

_"Milly told me that my mother was very beautiful, with red hair like fire, and skin like the white snow she was found in. Rose Campbell, the daughter of a governour in England._

_"She was adopted as a little girl and found about it herself later in life, from her younger sister, Emily. The parents did not treat her badly, but differently, as if she were a debt rather than a daughter. Of course, there were impediments regarding her step-mother, who, during nights of drunken terrors, would grab Rose by the hair and slam her into walls and kitchen cabinets. I cannot imagine how she loved her at the same time._

_"One day she told Simone, Molly's daughter, that she wanted to leave her house and wanted to take her with. Simone, who was a maid in a rich home, could not accept, because a black girl can't find a job so easily and could well starve. Rose felt betrayed, so she left a note for her parents explaining that she was abused by Simone and that's why she ran away. Simone was murdered immediately - and it was all legit as well - by Mr. Campbell, and nobody moved a finger, because he had the financial strength to take her down. Milly told me she suspected Rose and Simone had an affair, or at least that Rose took a likeness to her. She suffered enormously when she lost Simone, but, because Rose felt like a daughter as well, she tried to find her in the world, to make sure she was healthy and happy._

_"Two years later, when Rose was already nineteen, she was seen with a gypsy woman in the port of Havana. She was pregnant, and the unknown father suspected being a Marine soldier who often came to the brothel where Rose was working. The gypsy, Milly said, was a brunette with eyes like olives, and a nasty scarred cheek. She was said to have travelled with charms and knives, and to have lured Rose to her. Her name was Barbara._

_"When Milly came to my mother to ask her to return home, I was already six months old and Rose was living in an abandoned tower with Barbara and her sister. My mother said she would never return to a life full of lies, and threw herself from the rooftop._

_"Milly felt so guilty for yet another death, that she took me with her. Mr. Winston found her in Port Royal as she was trying to find a job at a butcher's store, hired her as maid, and took me along._

_"I did not ask for any of this, Angelica. I did not want anything that happened to me, but it happened."_

_Until she finished speaking, I'd forced myself not to close my eyes for a second, because I knew that then my ears would close in my tiredness._

_Seeing Barbara didn't continue, I knew not how to feel. Milly was a good woman and I was pretty sure she was caught in the fire. I cared for her, and Barbara must have been grateful for her saving her life when her own mother abandoned her._

_So I did not say anything, and I grabbed Barbara._

_"The fire was not my fault." She whispered very slowly, very quietly, so much that if I had slept, I would not have noticed at all. I did not believe it, but I did not care. We were both alive, which I couldn't have guaranteed for Barbara if she's still been in Alex's way for a long time._

_How much is too much?_

_Days have gone unnoticed. In each of them, I took tea and dinner with Captain Rackham, telling him a little of the farm happenings. I never detailed the fire, nor did he ask me, and I had the impression that his thoughts and mine coincided in this regard. Barbara showed up at dinner three, maybe four times, but she did not say much and never approached me in conversation. In our chambers she explained that she did not want to destroy my cover, even though she didn't fully understand why I chose it. I could very well get the same services if I said I was Angelica Vurvot and not Margot Févron. It was not true. If I claimed to be a Huguenot girl in front of a boy who seemed to be pursuing a free life, maybe even piracy, I had much more to gain than to say that my parents were wanted because they were part of a family which posed a threat to England's political position._

_Yes, as George had told me - and I chose to believe him - the Vurvot clan, who moved largely from Dubrovnik to the Barcău Mountains of Wallachia, was part of the Order of the Dragon, which worked especially against the Ottoman Empire, but also against the scheming of Occident. My parents had been hunted like wild animals by a whole crew on Culebra, and George told me that the gunfire that he'd shot seven years ago in the woods had been a ruse, they had been my parents' chance to escape and my chance to a life away from this dangerous order. I had never understood the importance of power in society, but I did get that it gives people - men and women alike - a dose of security that they do not actually have in themselves or in God. Those seeking power are already lost._

_So a false identity is what I needed. At least, that's what my young and inexperienced in the world mind told me._

_Although I insisted on shouting mannerisms to the Captain, he insisted on calling me simply Margot, never Miss Févron. Perhaps it was an attempt to get close to me and to make me trust him, but only accomplishing the opposite. I had no objective reason to doubt him, but that shifting, jarring, unrelenting look of him foretold only surprises. I did not feel like I could rely on him all the time, and maybe what he did for us was too much for a boy his age._

_There was no time when both I and Barbara were leaving the room and our possessions alone. The door could be locked, but it rarely was. I knew the crew had access to the keys, either for the weekly cleaning or to bring food or water or tea in the late hours of the night. Tea calmed me and warmed me, though it was already hot outside, and did not invigorate me as I wished. It was moments like these when it was obvious I was not English, and, in order to strengthen my nationality, I was also asking Rackham every three days for a glass of red wine that made our discussions flow more easily, more worry-free. He always drank four to five glasses and did not seem to be affected; a true sailor._

_Perhaps I let go of the right attitude some nights. Perhaps I wanted protection as I had from George during my stay at the farm. Often I was thinking of confessing to Rackham all the same, not to live with such guilt in my veins, but I was rapidly rethinking it, telling myself that if he did not betray us to the end, he would know at least part of our plan ._

_The last night came pretty fast. All the days passed through a dream, spent in thoughts and conversations. It was, I suppose, past midnight, already 11 th July, when we would arrive at the port of Étretat . I saw a little something on the horizon and it was probably land. I was on deck and I back in my room. A few hours earlier, I had fed the piglet with what I had in Barbara's borset hidden beneath a board in our room floor. The pig was going to stay with Rackham, so I went to the basement to find it. A boy, more physically mature but more innocent in expression than the Captain, was already there to clean up the dirt it had done throughout the day. I told him I would take care of it myself, because I wanted to remember for the last time what I had left behind. He looked at me curiously, but left me alone. He did not know that I had never dealt with the sty._

_Finishing and quieting almost completely, I quickly asked for a bath in my private room, where I cleaned myself up and dressed in my night clothes. However, I did not go straight to bed, but instead walked out of the cabin as still as possible, not to wake Barbara, who had already been sleeping for over an hour._

_The waves that predicted a summer storm were slowly moving the ship, restful for my legs looking for balance, finding it in this cradle of the sea. I stood for a while in front of the Captain's door, not knocking just yet, and only leaning against it. I touched the wooden door swollen with moisture, and I tapped it three times with the nail of the index finger. The door opened slowly, but still it made me lean forward and press my chest to one covered by Rackham's semi-opened shirt. I closed my eyes for two seconds, cringing my courage and confidence that I was not doing the stupidest thing in my life, and I straightened, advancing and closing the door behind me. Rackham stared at me fixedly, inexpressively, far too closely. I stretched out my right hand to grab his, and at first touch, he swung, surprised. I pulled it harder and drove it down in front of both of us, open. It was smooth, extraordinarily smooth, but yet finger-tuckers promised something else. I breathed in the centre of it and covered it with my left, then I closed it and kissed the his finger tip as a sign of my thanks. The silence was inappropriate._

_"_ Un baiser pour la vie. _" And my eyes met his own, unchanged and yet changeable. He brutally pulled his hand out of my palms and looked at what I gave him. I gasped my eyes and my eyebrows rose before I was shoved into the door and was held there with one arm._

_"I cannot!"_

_"_ Pardon _?" I do not know if my calm was coming out of astonishment or fatigue._

_"I cannot," he insisted unconvincingly. "I cannot..."_

_"Why?" And then he looked at me for the first time in anger._

_"If they are real, I cannot accept something that would save your life. What would you do to start both your lives?"_

_"Ah", and I chuckled, eyeing the six black pearls I had given him like a bag of muffins. "If this is the_ problème _, do not worry, we 'ave four times more than that."_

_His hand, which was beside my head on the door, now captured my wrist. "Where did you get that?" There was something suspicious in his voice, but he allowed me an explanation._

_"Mr. Winston kept all 'is_ fortune _in that form, saying it was the easiest way to deposit and insure. We should 'ave been stupid enough not to take what was gained from us." A forced smile and my hand was left alone. I rubbed it just to insinuate the undeserved gesture, not because it hurt me. Rackham seemed ashamed, but still hesitant. "You deserve much more. What use do we 'ave of these_ six _extra? We 'ave everything to gain, and you - everything to lose." I felt a part of myself, above my mind, force these words to come out of a child's lips. I did not know what I was saying, and yet I was._

_My back, covered only by the white cloth of the dress, was pressed to the rigid door, and a new feeling passed through my spine, infusing my mind. I held out my hand in a sign, suggesting to the Captain that I might be better off. He inclined his head in approvement and stopped me only for a moment._

_"Be ready in five hours."_

_I'd been able to sleep for two hours, because every five minutes I'd wake up to check the borsetta._

_Finally, my eyes slowly opened, impatient with tiredness, and blinded by the finest light of the sunrise among the soft clouds on the horizon, which came through the window above the bedside between the beds. I felt the ship moving slower, but stronger due to the waves getting closer to shore. We were stopping, and the crew was lying loud on the deck to lower the anchor._

_I lifted myself out of bed with painful muscles to look at that small window on my knees. A dense fog covered the harbour, but we could see a wooden platform, something bright green - our promised hills - and two buildings closest to my eyes. I inhaled deeply and moved my hand to Barbara to wake her up. She rested her thin cheek on my palm, smiling slowly, then opened her eyes._

_"Mornin'."_

_"We've arrived." I also smiled at her and watched as she jumped out of bed and gathered her things with indescribable speed. I was ready altogether, so I was just pleased to get dressed and make sure that this time I had a hat on my head - I was not a fan of these hats, but I preferred in detriment of a summer insolation, although the sun barely came out from behind the hills._

_When we were both out of the room, the Captain was about to knock at the door, surprised to see us already up for landing._

_"But how impatient the girls are!" He exclaimed with the same playful light in his eyes and a small smile. Barbara passed by radiating happiness, and he caught me behind from an elbow, murmuring, "I didn't expect you to run away from me when you left though."_

_I turned then and half-smirked, "I never run, I sneak." Such jokes were welcome, but I wanted my life - my_ real _life - to start as soon as possible._

 _I crossed the deck and found the blonde already down on the wooden platform with the luggage beside her, waiting for me. Rackham descended with me, and caught me again, as if to make sure I was not unmanaged. I did not let him speak, "_ Merci beaucoup, Capitaine _Rackham._ Bonne chance _in your_ carrière."

 _"I do not need luck, Miss," he said the formality with a sad smile, but it disappeared immediately, "If business will ever bring me to Étretat, France..." And he removed his hat from his head, stooped and leaned in front of us, taking a step back as if to say_ 'Farewell, my pleasure' _, and finally returning to_ Marlborough _. A beautiful ship, if I can compare it to my four-year memories of that Navy respectable catastrophe._

_One arm clutched my throat, pulling me back in a tight hug. "We made it!"_

_"Let's not be in the way," and we went to a bench next to the harbour, sitting as two old friends who came back home after a long time. We stayed for a few minutes, just to admire the morning scenery, coloured like a warm, soothing pastel, in which people walked calmly through their chores in the town. It was nice to be with our hearts, knowing that here we finally had a chance._

_A thin hand grabbed mine, snow in contrast to sand. "Do we have everything?" She finally asked me, yet without a trace of question. I nodded._

_"You already have your share in the bag. I have mine."_

_"You gave some to him, didn't you?" She knew._

_"I had to assure myself. Plus, he may not be captain for a long time."_

_"Of course, not Captain in the Navy." So his fate was sealed. He was about to lose his life so that we could win ours. Everything is a trade. "Where do you want us to go?"_

_"Oh, Barb'ra, I don't think you want to come where I'm going."_

_"How so?"_

_"You are not a girl of the monastery." I could feel a change in the air, and I frowned. I had not told her my plan._

_"You can't want to be a nun! Seriously, Angelica!" She was angry, but rather confused, desperate that I let her go into a new world alone. I was not about to become a nun. I knew the French were Catholic or Protestant, and I was very much not. The faith of my parents was imprinted in my soul in the first years of my life, and even George's English style could not change my vision of the world. We were not at all physically-based, but spirit-based. No, I did not want to become a nun in_ _Étretat. I was relying on the idea that all humans are attracted to the unknown and mystic to some extent. That was my starting point._

 _"I'll see you again, Barb, I'm not abandoning you, but... I know that our road here is bifurcing. You're my sister and family is always close, no matter the physical distances." I grasped her hand and felt it tremble. I looked at her then, struggling with the temptation to flee the responsibility of my choice. She came to cry, but I did not say anything. What could I say?_ 'Congratulations, a new life, from now on you're on your own.'

_"I'm probably going downtown. One can't find anything in the outskirts of the city", she said in a serious voice, "And what monastery were you thinking about?"_

_"I don't know exactly, I'm going to look around for a while, maybe by noon I can find something."_

_"I have no idea how we thought we could do it. We set very hard goals to ourselves."_

_"We'll manage. We must."_

_We broke up after another half an hour. We were going to meet again in the evening at a pub in the center, although I knew it was not a very suitable place for two young girls._

_I had found many churches on the way, but that didn't help me much. Only when it was past noon, and I was starved, I spotted - a kilometer away, on the edge of a hill, which in a ravine to the beach that was covered in a bit of cobblestone - a monastery built in wood and stone in Gothic style, rising magnificently among the rare trees around it. It was hard to carry twenty pounds of clothes and trinkets in the back, in the front and in all the positions where I moved my bag to keep my fingers from falling off, but I forced myself to take the steps to the church gate._

_It was useless to knock, for there was a long path from the gate to the entrance to the monastery church itself. I found a bell over my head and I ringed it, thinking about what an eleven-year-old girl might say to nuns when she doesn't want to become a nun. I waited for a few minutes and finally heard small, measured steps, hurrying toward the gate from the other side._

_The door opened slowly, revealing a woman not too old, with a round face and a glancing gaze in her equally round eyes - but small, meticulous to distinguish me better in the bright summer light. Under her black cloak was brown hair, which had some carunes in it. "_ Oui, Madmoiselle, plaire. _" She opened the door more and stepped on her path. She took my luggage halfway and I appreciated the fact that she had received a stranger in the yard, even inside the church, without asking anything. She opened the door with a key from a smaller building, separate from the church, and I found myself at a round table of old gray wood and on an equally old chair that did not shudder at all when I sat down. I was tired, but I had to be careful about all the details that surrounded me._

_I was in some kind of kitchen. An oven by the table, and a stove behind me. The petite woman was preparing something, and I supposed it was to drink. I was right, because in a few moments I felt a soothing scent of tea._

_As it was boiling, the nun returned to me and sat in the front seat, placing both hands on the table, a sign of confidence and trust. She was not much taller than me, actually not at all, so I didn't have to look up, and that fact helped me speak freely._

_"_ I come from far away _", I said, pointing a finger to the ocean. "_ I have no parents. I have no one. _"_

 _"_ Have you come here to become a nun?" I chewed on my lower lip, knowing it would be hard to refuse the offer of sanctification.

"I came to help and be helped. I cannot be a nun _."_

 _"_ Cannot?"

"I'm an orthodox. _" It was my best argument._

 _"_ You want to help, very well. Yet what kind of help are you looking for?"

"I want to be able to make my own money. Is there any part of the monastery you are not using?"

"To cede part of the monastery for anything not related to God would be a great sacrifice _."_

 _"_ Of course, you are right."

 _"_ Drunk some tea _." I took the hot cup from her hand and blew lightly on the surface of the liquid. "_ There is an abandoned house near the church. We can let you stay here until you renovate it. _"_

 _"_ How do you know I have the money for it? _"_

 _"_ If you hadn't, you would have become a nun _", and she smiled knowingly. Perhapst it was time to bring out my payment._

 _I looked inside the bag and pulled out five black pearls. The eyes of the woman grew larger and the smile disappeared. She was going to protest, but I interrupted. "_ I would like to turn this house into something, it might help with what I have in mind. All I need is shelter, a bed and a roof. I promise not to bother anyone _", I added in a hurry. The woman was overwhelmed, and I knew she was considering them a fortune. All the better._

 _"_ Little girl... you are much too young to understand the value of these _." She had a pearl in her hand and looked at it with interest. I knew I could do it. It was impossible not to. I waited, not saying anything, knowing that I was very direct and I shortened the interaction a lot. The woman sighed deeply, thinking she was making a mistake. She looked back at me again, as if she were seeing me for the first time. "_ What is your name? _" I went to answer, but hesitated. Did it matter if I was lying to a nun from another religion? But I didn't have to ponder much, because she reformulated it. "_ How should I call you?" I smiled. I did not have to lie after all.

"Margot Févron, Madame _."_

 _"_ Plaire, Margot - what a convenient name _", she added, looking back at the pearls and smiling with the same hidden knowledge, "_ \- I am Marie, this is the only valid name here as we are all married to the God our Lord and family names have no significance; you will soon meet the others. _"_

_The abandoned house was quite small, with two floors but, consequently, two rooms and a restroom. The dust had been left on the tables for some time, on the chairs, the walls were devoid of painting, and the floor was moldy in the corners. However, the base was solid and everything could be improved, repaired, cleaned. I was relying on the money I had in store and offered for this precise activity. There was a lot of work at hand, but I was not completely alone._


	6. Chapter V: Outlaw Before a Glass

**I acquired expensive habits and affected manners. I got a third-class degree and a first-class illusion: that I was a poet. But nothing could have been less poetic that my seeing-through-all boredom with life in general and with making a living in particular. I was too green to know that all cynicism masks a failure to cope - an impotence, in short; and that to despise all effort is the greatest effort of all**.

**_(_ The Magus _, John Fowles)_**

* * *

_A bell sound alerted me to the arrival of a woman in my store. I stared at the silver and porcelain chopsticks that stumbled slowly over each other above the door, then my eyes fell on the client, waiting shoddily in the middle of the room, the right half of the face darkened because of the curtain that covered the open window and blocked the outside light, which was cloudier than I had never witnessed before._

"Madame Otilia, but why do you stay frozen like that over there? Come here!" _I stood up from my chair behind a cherry wood desk to meet the woman. I looked more closely at her: her lips were dry from old age, but also from her tendency to wet them from minute to minute; she was wearing a brown hat over her gray hair caught in a tight bundle, and a dress tight in the middle, just as beige as the old but elegant lace which was binding her neck. Madame Otilia was one of the greatest clients of my doctrinal drug and advice business - be it for body, soul or mind health._

 _The woman advanced and stopped again two feet from me. She hesitated a little before she spoke,_ "Mademoiselle Févron, I would like if you could-"

"S'il vous plaît, Madame Otilia, call me simply Margot. We have known each other for quite some time." _I smiled pleasantly, seeing her hesitate even more. The pretty old woman was more shameful than a child, and I could not help but feel like an adult in front of her. Every time she visited me, I would welcome her with open arms, knowing she would ask me for a lot - that is,_ a lot _\- and she would pay me a lot - that is,_ a lot _. I waited for the dust, as it came up, to sit back in the now yellowish light from the sun that stormed throughout the clouds._

_Madame Otilia raised both hands and, with gentle gestures, grabbed the tip of the left glove finger, a dark purple color that contrasted nicely with the rest of her costume. When she finished, she tactically put her gloves on the edge of my desk and stretched out her hand._

"I see the burns fading" _, I smiled fugitively,_ "Have you been applying the ointment I have you?"

"Cours."

"Bon."

_I turned back to the woman to look for a bottle on one of the shelves at the bottom of the room, in a corner kept cool for good drug retention._

_Since I was in Étretat, I'd started a business that gave me a pleasant distraction from the usual questions that ran through my disordered thoughts:_ what am I doing here? why am I wasting my life here? _Here I gathered weekly medicinal plants from the wildest area on the outskirts of the city, and_ Sœur _Marie also bought some myrrh and aloe oil I could not find in the surroundings. I earned money in a relatively honest way, meaning that although people came to me with enough problems that I could not solve, I was trying to convince them that everything would be alright, that their wife didn't cheat on them, that the universe would avenge their enemy, that an incurable disease was not fatal._

 _Things hadn't worked so well from the beginning. After I renovated the house that Marie showed me, the first to come to see what was going on was a Marshal interested in finding any illegality, such as the wrong age I had. In theory, an eleven-year-old child shouldn't be running a business. I'd told the gentleman that what I was doing there was to go on with my daddy's business. And my mother, where was she? She was dead, bless her soul. And who would take care of me? Well, I was not going to make the Marshal believe that I was alone, because I did not intend in any version of my future to be in a foster home, so: the_ sœurs _from Mont-Saint-Michel took care of me as soon as my beloved father Georges'd left this world. Although the Marshal - whose name was forgotten as soon as registered - did not seem totally convinced, he left, and did not come back with questions, which was enough for me. I continued my plan and had more clients than I expected - it seems that faith is not only in religion but also in practices that deviate from divine occupations._

_I took from the edge of a wooden shelf a sealed bottle, which I unzipped with a feather and I spread it on Madame Otilia._

"What is that?" Sh _e wondered, with that eternal smile of a nice old lady that she had._

"Acacia honey, beeswax and essential oil of distilled cider."

"Do you have cider, Mademoiselle Févron?" _I smiled again._

"Not for very long, but there are some other kinds of alcohol that I have in the store." _I stood for a few seconds and suddenly I returned to the back of the room, searching for a box. I went to Madame Otilia with a vinary bottle, offering it to her._

"Oh, but I couldn't!"

"S'il vous plaît, j'insiste", _I stretched it toward her again and, with great hesitation, she took it from my hands._ "You've been coming here for so long and never mentioned any relatives. Maybe it's time to build some relationships, not to be alone", _I said, making sure my eyes emphasized the word 'relationships'. I knew the woman was a widow, and I was thinking that, perhaps, if she had someone else to worry about, then she wouldn't about herself alone. I was not ungrateful for the payment every time I got it, but I knew that sometimes the insistence became suffocating, and at the moment I was making a great effort to breathe. Her hands, burnt at the tips of her fingers and at the pas of get palms from the hot iron, which she carelessly grabbed a week before, trying to mark her own jug at the blacksmith's, gripped the bottle even tighter, then put it on the office table that was still between us. The woman remained silent and stretched her hands again, suggesting that she really needed treatment. I sighed lightly without her observing, and soaked my finger in the oil to apply it on the sensitive skin._

 _After a long silence, Madame Otilia spoke again._ "I'm not that lonesome anymore; there's a boy - a young man - who works in the hardware store, you know, but my only interaction with him is in the morning when I talk to him about customer orders and in the evening when I let him go. I own the house and I have no visitors." _I knew this was a cry for help, and I knew I was not the type of person to volunteer. But I also knew I was the only one who could. Even though I understood the sisters at the monastery, I did not get along with them. They tolerated me, and I had resigned. The only one who seemed to have sympathy for me was_ Sœur _Marie, who invited me from time to time for strawberry picking in the monastery yard, or tomato-seed planting, or maybe even for a cup of tea, just as in the first day we met. However, I was anxious. So I offered my help._

"Come see me tonight in this room for dinner." _The blue-gray eyes of the woman glittered with tears that I did not receive with open heart, but which I accepted because I understood. She approached me and caught my hands, the oil not yet fully absorbed into the skin and so dirtying me, but I did not say anything._ "Bring the bottle as well" _,_ _I added, and then I decided better not to leave her the burn-lotion, since I knew she was going to waste it, and it was really a hard-to-reach mixture that took a long time - up two months - to prepare. I closed the contents and made a sign to the woman that she could now leave, which, fortunately, she did._

_The day turned out to be beautiful and pleasantly cool, occasional sunrays passing through the blanket of white-gray clouds covering the autumn sky._

_It was a Wednesday afternoon, and my feet led me to lunch over a meadow where weeds grew freely. Perhaps most people consider weeds unusable, ugly plants. But every time I looked at that tiny white tail, I remembered the blossoms growing at the base of George's house. I used to pick them up one by one and leave them in an open, water-filled bottle until I went back to the store and let them soak in quality water for a few minutes. You never know when you need to stop a nose bleed._

_The edge of a fifty-foot rock by the sandy shore of the sea that stood in front of me was in the same line as the city that was less than a mile away. The water of the ocean, a purple-gray with crystal-blue reflections, surrounded the wide tongue of the land on which laid cramped houses, stalls and carvings with brown roofs and stone walls - a prosperous locality of fishermen._

_Somewhere in the center of this town was a building that stood out, because it had a windowed attic, inside of which almost nothing could be seen. Sometimes I was wondering if, downtown, Barbara felt safe. I knew she was well, but that was the truth: I had not seen her in three years._

_That fortunate day when we both came here, we had to meet at a tavern and talk the plan through. After I'd successfully settled in the monastery, I left with my best intentions to the meeting point. When I got there, however, Barbara wasn't inside. Upset, I wanted to leave, but one arm grabbed me from one side and drawn me in a corner._

_"What the hell are you doing!" I cried once I saw the blonde girl and my heart quieted. I felt a strong odor of alcohol and vomit in the atmosphere._

_"Sht."_

_I was silent for a few moments, then continued, "Barbara, what's going on? Are you alright?" I was looking for signs of aggression on her arms and wrists, found them, and grasped them. Barbara fired her chest._

_"Something's happened," she confessed with a small voice._

_"I know that." She lowered her eyes and swallowed. I didn't like it._

_"A man... Angelica, a_ man _\- Lord!" A yell of crying struck her in a moment, and she caught me even harder by my sleeves, trying to keep balance on her feet. A man had raped her and taken her pearls. She was alone, helpless. I asked her if she wanted to come to the monastery. "God, no!" She made big eyes as if the monastery was the place where the Devil was residing and sending his rapists in the world. I waited for her to regain her breath and explain her plans. "No, Angelica, I'm staying here."_

_"Here?!" I knew what she meant, but she couldn't be serious._

_"Yes, here. A lady found me on the stones in front of the brothel and brought me in. She gave me these clothes, since the ones I had on were torn and filthy." Only now did I notice that she was wearing a French-style dress with a larger neckline. "She said she could care for me..." I noticed her hesitating, so I stepped in, stopping her from further siphoning the left sleeve of her dress. Her fingers jolted._

_"In return for what?"_

_A heartbeat._

_"My services."_

_"You are a fool."_

_"Excuse me for having no alternatives - like you, Angelica -, but that's what I've known all my life! Getting screwed and staying silent!" I stared at such words. It was incredibly painful to hear them, and I imagined what it was like to feel them. Barbara had not finished. "I'll stay here. Do not visit me. I do not want you to see me like that." Her tone was just as angry, but this time it was directed at the universe, at her own being. She was ashamed of something she was not to blame for. It was a blow to my confidence for the future. Now I was alone._

_"Barb-"_

_"It's okay, I'll handle it. That's what I'm good at", she added with a sardonic smile. I could not cry, my tears frozen in shock._

_I left that night without eating, without drinking. I sat in the same clothes I came in and sat on the simple bed, prepared by Marie in the separate corner of the common room where the other_ sœurs _were asleep._

_Now I was looking at the roof beneath which Barbara was probably resting, and I knew she was working nights. I often went to the pub, whether to racollate my clients - most of them were people with troubles drowned in drinks - or to spy on how the girls were treated. The lady that Barbara told me about was always present - a middle-aged woman with curly gray hair fixed in pins and wearing pompous and silly dresses, but clearly showing her status as a matron - and I often wanted to go talk to her, but I preferred to wait. Perhaps, soon..._

_When I went back to the store - well, maybe the term store is not that good; I would rather go with the what I named it at that time:_ Cache _-, I left the weed flowers soaked in a pot with the lid closed and I sat in the chair in the down-room office. The down-room was the one most of my clients were visiting, and it was arranged in an Oriental-French style, with colourful and mosaic upholstery, which I worked on annually, gluing the pebbles collected from the beach. My wish was for this room to give a sense of calm to those who came and not to draw attention to the stairs leading up to the upper-room, which was a little different: there were less used ingredients and perhaps less legal, including poppy seeds from which I extracted opium for trance and induction sessions that were not seen with good eyes, especially by the church people - if_ Sœur _Marie knew what I was doing in the upper room, I'm sure she would have removed me by any possible means._

 _I took_ A Draught of Eternitie _\- I'd always liked Camus - and I propped my heels on my wooden desk, leaving my long skirt to slowly fall over my legs, uncovering a naked knee._

_After about an hour, when the light in the room was not as intense as before, and I felt the need to light a candle, the door bells rang again. I raised my eyes from the book and saw Cecile._

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Cece" _,_ _I smiled warmly and placed the book on the desk, lifting myself to get to it. The girl gave her an almost white loop that showed her blue-stained eyes, putting a hand on her hip to support herself. She was about twenty years old._

"Salut, Margot." _The words were spoken so slowly that I had to squirm my ears to be able to deduce them. Her short breath, which she was trying to control, showed something was wrong._

"What happened to you?" _I approached and watched her more carefully. After a few seconds, I continued,_ "You're with child." _She was surprised. Her eyes were now impatient, but she said nothing, which only confirmed my suspicions. I sighed and sat back in my chair._ "One month?"

"Three weeks." _I nodded._

"Do you know who with? Should I check on you?"

"There is no need." _The girl saw that she was overwhelmingly subdued. She was not married, and such adventures, even in a libertarian society, weren't seen well. However, she was part of a wealthy family, so perhaps that gould manipulate the rossi to take a nicer shade._

"Your father... have you told him?" _Her eyes lowered._ "It will be too late." _I did not let her answer and got up again, going to her and grabbing her hands, leading her to a stool. I sat next to her, face-to-face, and began to ask questions. Shortly after, we used the yarrow, which had been prepared a few hours earlier, and I administered it on her lower abdomen._ "Drink this" _,_ _I told her, giving her a cup of mint tea with yarrow._ "Rest when you are home. Your father needs to know, Cece." Sh _e approached and stood up, a little dazed, leaving with her shoulders slumped, which she immediately straightened as she reached the doorframe._

_I didn't even realize when time passed. Madame Otilia came in without notice and I remembered that I had to prepare dinner. I told her to wait for me on the stool while I was warming up a stew already fixed in in the side-chamber oven - the one in which I made all my medications, ointments, lotions, and which was separated by an oak-wood splitter. In half we both sat at a scuffing table that we fired at the stool. We locked the door in order not to be disturbed by the clients - I had an appointed with a man later in the evening - and I wanted to feel relaxed. I opened the wine bottle and poured half a glass into some aluminum cups. I sat turkish-style on the purple pillow of the stool and began to eat in the lap of the chunk of a ceramic bowl that the church had received a year before and which I had taken for myself - it had come in a packet of cups and wall-plates, but there were many more than the nuns would've ever used._

"C'est délicieux" _,_ _Madame Otilia confessed with a small smile, carrying her wooden spoon to her lips, checking again if the sip was hot, as she had before. She blew lightly into it and elegantly chewed a mushroom. I smiled, too tired._ "Mademoiselle Févron" _,_ _I looked disapprovingly at her, but she said on,_ "Don't you get bored sometimes?"

 _The question took me by surprise and some of the food in the spoon fell back into the bowl. "_ What do you mean?"

"Oh" _, she chuckled in the characteristic style of the elders who do not have much to do in their lives,_ "Well, you are very young. If I had children, you would be exactly like them."

"I insist on differing. You are younger than you think."

"Perhaps, but you are also younger than you give yourself credit for." _The comment made me angry and I avoided her gaze, because I could not look at her badly._ "Were you never in need of some fun? I always see you in Cache, but never with children your own age. Even with all your knowledge, there is still a lack of experience that one cannot compensate with only brains."

"Madame Otilia, I have no one here. I'd rather start a business and have no friends than have friends and starve."

"That is not what I meant. I apologize." _I realized from her resigned tone that I had crossed the line. I sighed and put my bowl aside to take a sip from the cup - it seem I was good at distilling._

"I know, Madame Otilia, you are a good person." _She seemed to be relieved with my answer. How lonely she was._ "I don't want to go and work somewhere in town. Sure, I like talking to people - that's what I do all day - but that is not my objective."

"And what is it, then?"

 _I was silent for a few seconds._ "It's just not what my destiny has in store for me. Or, at least, not what I have in store for myself" _,_ _I said with a faint smile, hoping she would drop the subject. Fortunately, she did._

_It was already dark and it was hard to distinguish some forms. I lit five candles and arranged them through the room, making sure to burn some rose petals in oil for a soothing smell to cover the one of boiled chicken._

"Bien, I'd better go now. It is getting a tad late and I'm supposed to be home at this hour." _Oh, the principles of Madame Otilia._

"Of course." _I went to unlock the door and the woman came out with the same little smile on her dry lips. A gentleman was waiting in the doorway, but he didn't knock on the door. He was tall and satin, dressed in a_ chic _suit and had a thin beak beneath his lower lip, his hair down to his shoulders, his waist slim._ "Monsieur Caron?" _I asked him, waiting for him to speak._

"Victor; may I come in?" _I opened his door wide and locked it again after he stepped into the office._ "You have a beautiful place here, Mademoiselle Margot" _, he added, pulling his jacket off and seating it on my chair._

"Févron" _,_ _I said, not very sure of this arrangement. The man did not seem to understand that he was here so I could help him, not fuck him - as the look on his face told me, he expected me to be a pretty face, a young body or maybe both, and get the job done. My expression definitely suggested not to play with me, because he began to laugh humourlessly._

"Normal, so where to?" _He put his hands together in a hurry. I took a candle and led him up the spiral wooden stairs to the upper-room. On my way, I straightened my belt at the middle, and I rearranged my blouse, which was disordered in the back. As I reached the top, I told him to sit at one of the ends of the square table in the centre, surrounded by four simple chairs. I also kindled candles - four - that I put in each of the corners of the table. I walked to a smaller box and pulled out cards, feathers, a mole, poppy seeds and a pocket knife. I put them all on the table and started to sow the seeds with the back of the knife. The man wounded._ "Your intention is to put a spell on me, isn't it?" _He kept avoiding the polite pronouns. I was not happy with it._

"S'il vous plaît, Monsieur Caron. If I wanted to spell you, I wouldn't be sitting at a table now." _His grin grew at my words._ "We will stay at the table, unfortunately. I am sorry."

"Nevermind that. Perhaps one day, though."

"You know, you remind me of my dad, you two look a lot like." _The smile froze a fraction, then grew, but with less pleasure._

"Très bien."

 _After only a black powder was left in the mill, I put some of it in rolled sheets, which contained several herbs, and some of it in the boiling water in a pot at the end of which was a tube, looking a lot like a Turkish_ nargile _. I gave Caron the tube, and I lit my cigarette with the candle flame, pulling lightly out of it and exhaling a blue smoke that blurred the image in front of me for a moment. I held the cig between the base of my index and middle fingers of my left hand, while shuffling the cards. They were about the size of my hand, but I was accustomed to them, and shuffling was easy._

"You do know what you are asking for, yes?" _I looked directly into the man's eyes, who was silent for several minutes, pulling a few times out of the tube, exhaled steam._

"Évidemment."

"Bon." _I gave it to Caron and told him to cut it in three. I shuffled again, split it into two halves, which I paralleled between the two of us._ "Now ask the question you asked me and focus: inhale the opium before and after saying it." _I waited for him to follow my directions, seeing how he inspired._

"What should I know about the one who killed my father?" _Another breath of opium._

"D'accord, now close your eyes and choose three cards." _With a little hesitation, he did. With his right hand on the cards, Caron touched the Past, Present, Future, in turn. I put them in front of me._ "Open your eyes and take one more inhale of opium." _He did._ "I'll flip the cards, I'll explain what each of them is. Focus on what they mean and smoke." _I ended my speech with a cigarette smoke that had so far reached the end. I didn't practice Tarot very often, but it helped to induce visions. The pack, obviously, was rigged, and the cards - generalities. I took the first card: The Lovers Reversed._ "Your father had a little friend." _Caron's eyes closed a fraction. He looked troubled._ "Their relationship was tumultuous. The woman was jealous."

"If I see something..."

"You tell me at the end what you saw." _He nodded and I continued._ "The following card: Death Reversed. Marks the end of a cycle - the purpose of the relationship. Crime - or suicide - of passion and vices." _Caron swallowed, already with his eyes closed, probably witnessing the scene of his father's death._ "The third card: Justice. You will know who this woman is, but it is possible for her to take charge of her destiny. Justice will come of itself."

"I think..."

"What did you see?"

"Are you finished?"

 _I waited for him to reopen his eyes._ "Oui."

"I am not familiar with the face."

"So it is the face of a girl?"

"Well, didn't you say so yourself when you read me the cards?" _He asked in a taut voice. I smiled. He continued,_ "Oui, it's a girl, blonde, very young."

"Blonde."

"Oui."

"Hm." _There were many variants to I knew of, and even more to choose from, since I did not live inside town as he. Still, two of them remained in my mind, like thorns._ "What position does this girl have?" _I managed to say after a while, leaving the cigar off on the table before burning my fingers, and looking at Caron, who was thinking._

"Position?"

"In society."

"She was naked."

_I looked at him._

"Aha." _I put my fingers together in front of the three Tarot cards I chose._ "And" _,_ _I thought of a wording,_ "in what state was this girl?"

"Ét- _uh_ " _,_ _the voice said, the man in fore force disappearing under an unnatural redness of the cheek,_ "She was very weak. Bony, even. I heard a name, Chantal, but maybe-"

"Enough." _I stood up and gathered the three cards from the table, pounded the pack a few times, and put it back in the box, blowing the candles off to one and opening a window to vent the steamed air._

"What did you say?" _He stood up, propping himself on the table to avoid losing his balance in the almost total darkness. I had the candle in my hand and my face was probably in penumbra. His face remained unseen._ "What did you say?!" _He then cried out, obviously angry and approaching in two steps, surrounding me. He was then in front of me, less than a foot away, and I had my ass backed to the table, trying not to show how dreary the situation was for me. I kept my eyes away for a second, but my attention returned to him as he grasped the wrist of my hand, the one with which I held the candle - which I almost dropped, managing to hold onto it with only the tips of two fingers, and the candlestick flashed on the floor -, and my cheek hacked at the edge of the table, pushing my painful bones into it. His body moved closer, holding me in place, pinning me totally, and I finally dribbed the candle, which, - I do not know if it was by jinx or luck - instead of setting the floor on fire, it died out suddenly, leaving us both in utter darkness. I could barely hear my attempts at a controlled breath in the background, for the blood in my ears was loud and dazed me. I had to support myself on something, so I tried to push into Caron's body, but it did not budge. He was not much taller than me, but he was much stronger. He was clearly affected by the opium. He leant forward even more, with a damp breath beside my ear, and I, trembling, touched his lips by mistake, and felt him smiling instantly. I froze and closed my eyes, praying to be saved in any way, by anyone._ "Considering everything you asked of me, when I paid you thirty écus, seven times more than what you ask of the rest of your gullible customers?" _He smelled my hair, which, though trapped in braids, had gone out of its place throughout the day._ "Perhaps you should make up for the lack of service you rendered me tonight. Let us see if you deserve this fortune." _His voice became gruff and I got angry. That was the reason why his father had died. He hadn't been killed by the girl - but by a protector of hers. I knew, and I had to get to her soon. Perhaps justice had already been done because_ she _was the victim, not the man - and he'd gotten what he deserved._

 _I straightened and, despite the pain I felt in my wrist, I twisted it suddenly to get rid of Caron's grip. I spit my following words,_ "I said: _enough_." _I walked around him, and he took a step back, at the boundary between the wounded-to-the-gizzard and resigned. He followed me outside and we descended the stairs together in the dark, but I was used to it. Down, I turned to him as I unlocked the front door._ "Until the problem is resolved, do not contact me. You don't know enough to risk it." _I was bluffing, but it matter not. I was angry enough to have a compelling and decisive tone. His gaze, unfocused, remained a moment on my expression, then nodded almost imperceptibly, and left in the night._

 _I sighed, and quickly went to a bowl of cold water, sprinkling some on myself to calm down. My skirt was almost dropped from under my belt, and my shirt was wrinkled. I was undoubtedly disastrous, but I didn't care. It was night, late, I was tired and my mind was crowded. I unlocked a drawer with_ écus _\- the French crowns -_ _, took the forties of the day and put them in an inner pocket of my skirt. I switched off the last lit candle and walked out of the store, straight to the bedrooms. The road was direct, straight, with low grass, and the cool night air woke me up, washing my worries away. Usually I was the only one on this road, so, instinctively, I looked once back - perhaps Caron, drugged as he was, wanted revenge for belittling him; but no: clear._

_When I turned my head toward the direction I was walking, I saw something moving, even at the base of the wall that surrounded the monastery. I started to go faster, but without making a noise. It had also happened for thieves to venture into the church and steal - silverware, sacred artifacts, whatever you want. I was in an open field, so my only option was direct contact. The closer I came to, the more I realized I was dealing with something totally different: a boy - a young, dark-haired man, with his locks curled and wrapped around his head; he was lying on the ground with his torn and dirty clothes and- blood?, mixed with body fluids and sweat; he had a beard and mustache in a long-forgotten pattern. But something else caught my attention - a pistol, and it was wet, so useless, attached to the man's breeches; a sailor?_

_He was hurt - stabbed, I supposed, under the ribs, and bruised all over the face. I sat down on my knees and inspected the wound. It was infected and, untreated soon, would kill him. I made a decision at the time, but I did not regret it: I had to take him to safety, make sure he didn't run, and go back to Cache for ointments, drinks and medication._

_His eyes were intriguing, but they didn't seem able to focus. I touched his forehead. He had a fever._

"Tu m'entends?" _No answer. I tried again, louder._ "Tu m'entends?" _A murmur was my answer. I leant my ear closer to his chapped lips filled with blood._

_"Hurts." I stopped and thought. He was foreign. What was I saying - he spoke English, so he was probably English, and that was the closest to non-foreign for me._

_"I know, I'll help you, do you understand me?" He looked at me fixedly, his eyes scarred from pain, but he nodded. "Good. I have to get you to a safe place, but I need to know some details. Can you use your legs?" After a few seconds, another head movement. It was good. With enough force, I could pick him up and walk with him to the cellar under the bedrooms - it was the only place I could think of when the_ sœurs _did not really come in._

_It was extremely difficult to get down the slippery stone stairs leading to the cellar, and the man was heavy - not from his stature, but from the fact that the lack of rest and the gravity of his wounds left him like a sack in my arms. I was rather small myself, with not enough brown to actually haul a deadweight and carry it around. Several times I thought it was possible that I had worsened those wounds, since I could not be too careful not to bang his head against a wall or not to have a corner into his stabbed abdomen. All I knew was that when I got down, he was breathing - even if slowlier and barely - and I left once the thicker and slicker blood was cleansed. I put the hair that had fallen into my eyes aside._

_I was sweating, and I was cold. After a few moments of catching my breath, I climbed the stairs again. I hoped the man would not think about leaving - or moving in any way - until I was back with what I needed._

_I got back onto the field, and this time I was running. I was not interested in the breeze making my shirt stick to my skin, soiled in my sweat. I did not even care that anyone could see me - I had not been much motivated to do anything in my life, and now I had a clear purpose: to keep this man alive._

_After searching through the chaotic mess of the store, I started back and down the stairs in just as much silence, knowing that the sisters_ _had been asleep for a few hours and really didn't want to endanger the weak relationship I had with them._

_Arrived down, in front of the man, I found his eyes closed. Frustrated, I took a glass of cold water and poured it onto his head. He woke up immediately, somewhat angry, but I had to move quickly._

_I took a bottle of pure alcohol, which I poured on the worst wound - under the ribs - after I tore the rest of the blouse away. His body shifted and I saw how the muscles rippled under his skin. I took a cloth that I soaked in water with cocoon to stop the bleeding and prevent another fainting. I wiped out the pus seeping from the depth of the wound, and I realized from the man's lack of reaction that he was about to fade into blackness again, perhaps this time even definitively._

_"Can you hear me?" I asked again, and I received a positive response - his widened eyes. "I'm glad you came here. It seems like Fate is on your side." He stared at me silently, and I had to speak onward, as if I didn't have a knife tip dipped in fire that I would apply onto the wound. "This is a special monastery. I know it will be here for many years to come." I leant a little, conspiratorially, even though I didn't really feel giddy, "You know, I can see the future. And do you know what the Future said to me when I stared him in the face? Yes, Future is a man, and he told me to keep quiet. Hm? What I see in people's palms, what I see in their cards, what I spot in their stars, never to tell. To only let bits and pieces out, keeps the illusion alive, and to go ahead and take the truth with me in the grave. As even if I'd let it slip, they'd never acknowledge it. The world knows not the truth, not because it stays hidden. But because no one really wants it." I kept rambling. Normally, using such words to amuse someone would have been an insult to my seriousness when it came to such matters, but the knife was now full of blood, and the muffled cry - the scream attempt - was much shorter than if I had not talked through it. I just hoped nobody had heard it. I should have given him an easel to bite on. I thought better, and I pulled out my belt, halving it to make it thicker and put it between his teeth I could barely hoist apart due to the pain-induced clench. "I don't know what you'd done before you came here, but that's an ugly wound. Whoever did it intended to kill you, hadn't they missed your liver." I took a needle and thread to sew the open wound shut. The first charging of live flesh made a noise erupt from the man's throat, which made me almost cry. I'd never been emotionally touched, but sometimes I was surprised even by myself. I approached the man's side, and he grabbed the right knee of my leg bent under me. "Pain is needed now to survive. It won't last long, I promise." And I didn't lie. In five minutes I was done and soaked the cloth again to disinfect the rest of the scratches, most of them on his face. All this time, the man's dry mouth was open, like after a long effort. I put out his improvised gag and gave him a little rum. He looked relieved._

_As I was wiping his cheeks, his forehead, his beard, I realized I knew him. The name didn't immediately come to my mind because his appearance was not exactly that of the Captain he'd once been. There was a boy in front of me - barely in contact with maturity - but who'd helped me and Barbara three years before. I was not entirely sure, though. But I had a hunch._

_By the time I was done, we were both drenched in sweat. I didn't intend on preparing a bath soon, at least not until the next day, because I was so tired that I thought I would fall asleep at the next blink of my eyes. I put aloe gel on the stab wound, then stretched my numbed legs, shaking off the hand on my knee. We were both on the floor - besides a table, there was no other flat surface in the cellar. All the utensils were gathered and, with my last power, I cleaned the blood on the stairs to the last step._

_The man seemed conscious when I came back to him. He looked at me equally silent and fixed, with both suspicion and gratitude. His chest rose rhythmically, deeply._

_"France?" He finally asked, in a hurried voice. Probably came here by chance, out of luck. Or perhaps, as I said, by Destiny._

_I nodded. I should have remembered talking. "Name?"_

_"Jack." A smile._

_"_ Jacques..." _I smiled too. I realized how long it'd been since I ever spoke English. As I cared for Jack, it seemed a momentary instinct, a response of his cries of help. But now, after all this time, it was too hard for me to say my name, the same name I had been using for the past years. "_ Je suis _Margot." A glint in his eyes reminded me of something and, in the light of a candle, I almost acknowledged it. "You are from England?"_

_"Yes", he said after a while, thrusting his neck to twist it. I helped him get up so much as to propel him against a wall. Where would I stay while he was here? "But I'm not English", he added. I looked at him then, hoping for clarification. "I gave up on that label long ago", he smiled, "We'll talk tomorrow - if you let me stay until then. Thank you for everything." And with that he left his head fall back, his loops touching his tired shoulders and shining from time to time in the almost complete darkness. There were no windows in the cellar, and I had no idea what the time was. Probably very late._

_I got up and left. I locked the cellar door and sneaked up to Marie's bed, next to which was a nighttable. I took her key from there, hoping she would not need it soon and notice._

_I fell asleep the second my head made contact with the pillow._


	7. Chapter VI: Subtle Offer for a Request

**Liking other people is an illusion we have to cherish in ourselves if we are to live in society.**

**_(_ The Magus _, John Fowles)_**

* * *

_The morning welcomed me in a most tragic way - golden sunrays were gently caressing part of my face with their warm frailty, waking me from one of the deepest sleeps in a long while. I groaned in a try to open my eyes by snatching my eyelashes from one another, but my head sunk deeper into the simple pillow of my isolated bed. I let myself think for a few moments, visions rambling in my head, filled with the smell of opium from the night before, and the voice of a man in the monastery's basement croaking '_ Jack' _not even a full five hours previously. My eyes flew open at that particular detail. I jumped straight in bed and was blinded by the rush of sight that invaded my irises. I had completely forgotten to pressure myself to be weary during the night, and ready for an assault from the_ sœurs _in case they would have discovered Jack down there. I needed to properly take care of the situation at once._

 _I rose from my seat and had a quick change of clothes, as I had neglected this when I went to sleep. I felt as if having a hangover and needed some sobering up, so I descended a short set o stairs into the yard, freshening up with some cold water from a small spring that fed us the daily necessity. Some of the sisters_ _joined me in their routine and eyed me curiously, but said nothing. My first thought was that my uncovered head was inappropriate, but it wasn't something that I ever did, to cover it, so it wasn't a novelty to them. I checked myself out and discovered that my blouse wasn't tucked into my skirt, and part of my back was on display. Huffing in annoyance and such pruderies, I set myself straight and went to the cellar, hoping not to have been noticed. I knew that closing_ Cache _for a few days was necessary, since I couldn't take care of both the store and the man downstairs without slipping a hint that I was up to something. Right now, Jack was my priority - and not just because he was a man in need of recovery._

 _Descending the spiraled staircase, I took in the smell of moisture and coolness. The lack of light was disturbing, giving me a sense of uncertainty. I had forgotten to bring along a match, a candle, anything to illuminate the square-shaped room, so I had to step carefully. I also reminded myself that, even though this was much likely the Captain John Rackham -_ former _Captain -, it didn't mean that I knew him. I'd never, not truly. He might have gone through some terrible shite since we had last seen of each other and nothing told me otherwise - the wounds he had received were in a gruesome state; he had met very gruesome people then._

 _Weary of the outcome, I arrived with foot on hard stone floor, and I couldn't hear anything, nor could I decipher a clear form in the darkness. I had left the man near the wall on the left, but he might have moved in the meantime. A sudden worry overwhelmed me - what if he was dead? what if, by some grand scheme of misfortune, an outlaw was to die in the cellar of the monastery? would we have been taken into custody as accomplices? for_ murder _?_

_A glimmer caught my eye a few feet away from the spot where I had left Jack in. I sighed in somewhat relief, but tensed once more. In my hurry, I had also forgotten about the ointments and opiates to alleviate the pain and realized that, were he to be in a worse state, I wouldn't' be able to help him._

_"Don't keep standin' there, dear." His roughened voice startled me and I regretted taking a step back, for I was showing a weakness._

_"What is your con-di-tion?" I spelled out the word, my French-like accent slipping back in. "Any pain?"_

_A huff, "Lots of it", he stated matter-of-factly, but seemingly unaffected, "But you'll make it go away, won't you, love?" The smirk in his tone was evident and I suppose he was feeling much better, since he could joke around like that - since he could_ speak _. I wished I could see his eyes, or rather the look in them._

 _"I can offer you nothing at the_ moment _." I reconsidered my formulation. "You are still weak. I brought no medication this time._ "

_"Then why have you come?" He was intrigued and patient. I could feel his warmth through the damp air, and I tried to breathe deeper._

_"To check whether you were_ morte _."_

_"And here I thought I wasn't a burden", he commented, and I wasn't certain of his state of mind. Could he've been feverish? I needed to feel his armpits._

_"You are not one. But you could become one. I do not wish_ les militaires _on my back." I approached him and tried to locate his chest. He heaved and stuttered in his breath. He wasn't alright, far from it._

_"The French don't know me. We're both safe here, aren't we?" I looked up to where his eyes would have been. I nodded, even though I imagined he couldn't see me, but I was somehow certain that he was able to sense such things._

_"Perhaps." I felt his skin and it was hot, pleasant to the touch. But no sign of fever._

_"You told me you can see the future." I said nothing. It was a slip of the tongue, something I'd admitted while tending to his wounds, but I didn't wish to start with superstitions around him. I wasn't in the mood, and I half-believed in my abilities anyway. "Last night. Or were you just amusing me?"_

" _It is my greatest_ plaisir _to amuse you, Jacques." I smiled and leaned back into a sitting position. What was I to do with him?_

_We sat quietly after that and I had the impression that I had fallen asleep again, because the utter darkness of the chamber made it hard for my conscience to awaken. I sighed though and ran a hand through my unruly hair - I hadn't taken the time to even brush it, let alone fix it in a bun or something of the sorts._

_I remembered the bottles of liquor then and darted to a shelf on the right to grab one. "Ow are your wounds?"_

_He hesitated, then shifted. "The stab wound might suppurate, but it doesn't seem very bad. The rest - I can't even feel the rest." I gave him the uncorked bottle and he took a few gulps, after which he gorgled the liquid in his mouth to wash away the smell. I took it back and drank a sip myself, feeling the surge of a pleasant buzz to take away the throbbing in my temples, most likely given by the mix of herb I had inhaled the previous day, then proceeded to feel his side and change his bandages, probably soaked in blood and pus by now. I needed to be very careful - there was no way to move the man someplace with light and I had no idea how to make it here with some food and water the next time._

_I sighed and managed to blindly pour some alcohol on the wound, act followed by short intake of breath and a half-groan, the man in front of me tensing significantly under my hand. "I 'ave to bring you some food", I said after a while. Jack shifted and I retracted my hand, letting him get adjusted against the cold stone wall. This wasn't a proper place for an injured man - could lead to tuberculosis, or who knows what else, and I wasn't versed enough to treat that level of affection._

_"That would be lovely", he responded amusedly, taking the bottle of liquor again from me and taking a swig from it._

_"I don't remember you as that much of a drinker, Jacques."_

_"You don't?" He let the bottle fall rather unceremoniously on the floor. "What_ did _you know, though? Besides your name and the place you wanted to go to."_

_"Do you despise me, Jacques?"_

_"No."_

_"Then?"_

_Silence and only the sound of a forced breathing. I sensed Jack's right hand searching for something on the stone cold floor. A_ chink _when he hit his fingers to an object, then him fumbling with said object blindly. I patiently waited for him to do what he'd put his mind to, not wanting to help. A_ swish _, followed by a small, bright and warm flame at the tip of a match. It illuminated his wound - not in the worst state yet, by the next day he might stand, even with the ooze silently escaping it at two seconds' pace -, and also half his face, which was wearing his serious and penetrating smirk. I thought of backing from him, but I knew I shouldn't. He, as well as I, had some sort of anticipation on his face._

_The match burnt to the tip of Jack's fingers, then it died in a moment. The warmth it exuded was overwhelming and I took in a deep breath. I was not prepared for this man, this situation, arriving at my doorstep. But I supposed I was living on burrowed time anyway._

_I rose to my feet, arriving at a concrete decision for once. Jack shifted again, this time with a grunt, and I stopped him with my foot._

_"Do_ you _?" He asked, in a voice that wished for monotone but was clearly somewhat affected._

_"I see that you can take care of yourself", I thought of the bottles of liquor in his immediate reach, "for a while longer. I 'ave to do some errands downtown. I'll return soon with supplies. No worries needed." I didn't flinch when he threw the burnt match at me in frustration and play, as I turned and climbed back up the spiral staircase, fumbling with the keys as I locked the door shut. I stomped my way determinately toward the garden, losing my care of what the sisters_ _might do if they found Jack._

_The walk to the town from its outskirts had never been an easy one, mostly when it came along with a burning sun in a most unusual period of the year. I kept wiping my forehead of sweat while gripping on my skirt with fierceness, as I tried not to lose my footing in the high grass of the fields. The surroundings were uncommonly quiet, but then I remembered that it was Sunday, and that most people would be in their homes spending time with their family, or, in the case of the church, they'd perform the mass sermon - which meant I had to be quick to retrieve some wine for them after I came back, before they had the chance to go to the cellar and by no fortunate event meet with Jack, who was in no way physically able to run, to escape or to even know how to communicate an excuse, a lie may it be._

_I started running - an unladylike act down the hill to the first tavern of Étretat, open to the flesh of the thirsty ones in passing. I continued toward my destination, ignoring the cries for a silver coin from the false blind men in the corners of the buildings, clothed with dirty rags and stinking of booze and other fluids. Not tall in height or broad in body, I was standing straight while sliding through the crowd of people bustling around nearby stores and butcheries and pubs that hosted men of the same smell as those on the streets._

_I opened the creaky door to the brothel I was looking for and went forward until I reached an inside garden - since the Jewish architecture was quite common in the area -, where men of all ages were leaning on their stools, sipping their whiskey and sniffing from the hallucinogenics and letting the young girls and boys dressed in only tight corsets and stockings on their laps, with silly smiles on their faces, as if giving money for pleasures of the flesh is worth all this trouble. I sighed, and sat myself on an empty chair at a distant table that still had grease and some other filth on it from the previous customer. My eyes scanned the upper floor, with balconies from which a couple of whores were eyeing me with interest. One of them, especially, with tons of make-up on her smooth cheeks and blossomed lips, shifted her position and retreated for a moment._

_I wasn't surprised to see a particular middle-aged woman in a purple dress approaching me from the side._

_"_ Matrelle Isabelle! _" I shout, turning to look the woman in the eyes of fading green, matching the almost imperceptible mould at the base of the walls._

 _"_ Madmoiselle Margot _", she gave me a tight curve of the lips,_ _"_ Very nice to see you. Do you want something?... Someone? _" Her smirk then widened with irony and she looked down at me from her high-heeled position. I smiled as well in return, even though my gut was turning at the sight of this woman, offering a fourteen-year-old girl a prostitute to sleep with. What a world we lived in._

 _"_ Oui. One bottle of dry red wine. No glasses. _"_

 _"_ In a moment _", she spoke, starting to go in the direction of the kitchens._

 _"_ And!- _", I added, with a raise to my voice, also standing from my seat, "_ Bring me Chantal. I must tell her something of great importance. _"_

 _The Matron turned her whole body toward me once more and the evidence of her annoyance with me was printed upon her face, a woman with no patience with a young girl who had no wish to sell her body, nor to buy one._ _"_ If you're a customer, you pay. The charge is set according to the request of the customer. Time means money, mademoiselle."

 _"_ Bien _", I sat myself at the table again, crossing my legs and folding my hands in my lap, "_ How much for a conversation? _"_

 _She squinted her eyes. "_ Thirty minutes. One hundred écus for her and the bottle. ". _"_

 _"_ Seventy. _"_

 _"_ No compromise _", she replied in an instant, preparing to leave._

 _"_ Not even for your business, Matrone? _" I advanced in my seat and rested my elbows on my knees, "_ I heard that someone died here recently. A man. _" The change in her expression showed that she knew of the incident, but she wasn't about to reveal any of it to me. So, I continued, "_ What if I found out who murdered him and my mouth just passed that information on to his son? _" A flash of surprise, then nothing. She was accustomed to threats, and her reactions were adapted accordingly._

 _"Really_? _" Her tone was dry and unimpressed. I waited. "_ Très bien. Seventy. _" It did work and, as she left, my smirk returned._ _"_ But I don't want to see your dirty face here again _", she insisted on adding at the end, and I knew then that never returning was my plan from the very beginning. She had some nerve, calling me dirty, but I ignored her biting response._

_I settled back in my chair and played with the hem of my long skirt, listening in on all the small and obscene noises that the various people surrounding me were making with no restraint or remorse. I glanced to my left and locked eyes with a tall green-eyed man, his face ageless and somewhat between ancient and forever young in its perfection and pale tan. Seeing my distraction, his irises glinted to almost golden in the sunlight that caught in them, and his mouth twitched as in a knowing but brief smile, almost imperceptible, as though it had never actually been there. His right hand was trapped in a whore's ginger curls while she was sucking at the nape of his neck, leaving red marks behind from both her teeth and her indiscreet lipstick, all this time straddling his thighs in an attempt to elicit a similar sound from his own mouth, which seemed to be otherwise preoccupied with forming silent and incomprehensible words toward my direction._

_I drew my eyes away before seeing too much. Even though I was accustomed with such depravities and debaucheries, I wasn't one to pry when there was nothing in it for me to gain. Although the image of the green-eyed man seemed to have imprinted itself in my mind, I shoved it aside as quickly as I glimpsed a mop of blonde hair with red straps coming my way from the side, swaying her hips one direction to the other. I smiled cautiously at her and leaned back in my seat to offer her some space and comfort among one of her many uncomfortable encounters with strangers. I was, after all, no stranger to her._

_"_ Bonjour _", she surprisingly started with a loop-sided grin, moving so that she circled the table in front of me and sat her bottom on it, careful to avoid the spill of_ something _in order not to stain her perfectly tight and loose blue dress. Her dark stockings showed when she raised her right leg over her left one, while managing to gently poke my hand with the tip of her elegant copy of a sandal. She was heavily made-up, the black framing her storm-blue eyes extending to the outside of her lids, making her seem a perfect Egyptian puppet, the contrast striking with her naturally white complexion, now enhanced by the soft bronze blush on either side of her cheeks. "_ Voulez-vous quelque chose de spécial? _" She asked while batting her black-painted eyelashes at me, "_ Je sais exactement ce qu'une fille veut _", she added with a smile that was meant to be both sweet and seductive, and I grabbed the hand at her side which was making circles in the dust covering the table._

_She froze for a split second, as if too entrapped in her play, but recovered just as quickly, probably used to being manhandled by numerous forceful customers. I pushed forward and took hold of her thighs, and her grin widened for a forced fraction, but the pulse I could feel on her wrist quickened. I squinted my eyes in a try to observe as much as possible on her face, standing right between my sight and a ray of sun threatening to break into my pupils, making her light hair frame her head like a halo for an angel of misery. I was counting the seconds that went by and waiting for her to remember me, not understanding why she'd pretend not to. Was three years so long, that my tousled and curly-braided hair, the coal I'd wear under my eyes and the sharpness of my matured features would swoon her into believing I was someone else?_

_And yet, she took her hand away, disentangling it from my grip, and let it fall lightly in her lap, her legs spreading wider still, but her dress falling to cover most of their exposure. She swallowed thickly in displeasure and the syrupy glaze she had thrown me earlier shifted into a more honest one - of quiet reserve and contained fury._

_"He knows", I whispered at last, avoiding to look at her directly but somewhat beyond her form, at the table not five feet away, where the green-eyed man had resided a few moments before. In the noise that engulfed even the loudest of moans in the open garden of the brothel, I could hear the silent breaths that Barbara would take every now and then, in turn not avoiding looking straight into my eyes, beckoning me to do the same. So I did; I saw the mixture of relief and tension in her storm and knew that she was troubled, her soul too aged for the small figure of her young body. She should have run away._

_"Yes?" She asked, not exactly interested, with a voice so hoarse that it seemed to follow the harshest and most painful screams thrown in the dark of her room, perhaps after she had done it. Had she?_

_I rubbed circles in her sinewy flesh at the base of her knees, just as she had been doing on the table earlier. It was a gesture of comfort, but I could see the distress rising on her expressive face, so I stopped, retrieving my hands back to myself. It was hot outside, so very hot and clammy and extraordinarily suffocating, and she stood there unmoving and yet trembling with a force I could not comprehend, as if my very presence intensified her problems. I attempted to relax back in my chair as I regarded her, and the sunray that was threatening to reach my eyes if not for her was let now to blind me, even for a few moments. Perhaps it'd let me see clearer._

_"Caron's son came to me the other day", I admitted, and was hoping for a smart retort from her as I was used to hearing, but nothing immediate came, so I continued with a voice strained with the effort of maintaining my composure in the face of losing any acquaintance I had left, "There is this procedure I use for men like him, who wish to know more than they witnessed in flesh. I drug them."_

_A scoff erupted from the girl's pale lips and my pain was alleviated for a few brief seconds as I again waited for her to say something. "Drugs are so common here... Herbs and other substances concocted by the experimental men of occult science, that I doubt it was something he hadn't tried before. He'd suspected me before that, I am certain." She sounded reprimanding toward him and toward herself and toward my own technique and beliefs, so I interrupted her train of faith-lacking._

_"And do you think that his father would have shared with him the amorous affair he had with a working girl for whom he fell with no apparent reason of thought?"_

_"You cannot possibly believe that Caron_ loved _me." It was bitter and tremored, and she straightened her back with a_ crack _showing the strain of her daily effort to please everyone but herself._

 _"I believe in what his son saw. He was very troubled and I'd recognize the signs of rage anywhere. He seemed inclined to do to me what his father had done to you, but fate has always been on my side in a dark and obscure way. Your fate, I'm afraid, you do not know how to manage." Her features hardened, but then went back to a numbing neutrality that showed lack of interest in what I had to say. "I know you_ - _"_

 _"How could you_ possibly _say that?" I swallowed and found that my throat ached from lack of water. The bottle of wine had not yet been brought to me._

_"I have been keeping an eye on you, Barbara", she twitched at the name, "You shouldn't have taken the matter into your hands. I'm certain the Matron would have understood the situation and would not have let Caron approach you again, had she known of his treatments." I paused to lick my lips and I sensed the stare of the girl on my left wrist as I tucked a loose stray of hair behind my ear. She was eyeing the trinkets I used to wear as bracelets, not of any value other than the aesthetic one. I considered taking one of the twines and giving it to her as a reminder that she could have things for herself if she so wished, but then I thought she might interpret it as a mocking gesture._

_"Your certainty is baffling", she murmured and regarded me with a calm that was the eye of the storm. I_ did _know her, and she was going to get herself killed if she kept murdering everyone that wronged her._

_"It is, isn't it?"_

_"I didn't kill him." A sense of_ déjà vu _swept over me, a reminder of what I had shared with Barbara before all - before the serenity that came with being reclusive and also the boredom that crept into it as of late._ _"I know what your expectations of me are, Angelica. I know you are very fortunate in your freedom, one you've never truly lost anyway. You have always done what you wanted. I haven't. Not even this, even though I desperately wished it. Caron's death, however welcome, was an accident due to a misjudged step." I raised an eyebrow. "He fell onto his back and didn't open his eyes afterward", she explained, but her tone held no remorse, no guilt, and it was that that made me distrust her words. Anyhow, it wasn't my place to correct her or her misdeeds. It was my duty only to warn her._

 _"Nevermind what you tell me now", I became severe, "He knows. And that's all that matters. Perhaps Matron knows and hid the evidence, as she can sympathize but never admit to a fault in her_ good estate _", I paused to look again in Barbara's eyes, rimmed with red just above the black_ cil _, marking long sleepless nights, "but he knows. And you'd better make him believe otherwise, just as you attempted now. Perhaps a show of affection toward a relative of his father's, eh,_ Chantal _?" I raised to my feet, kicking back the chair with a_ screech _and crowding the girl in the space left clear between her thighs, watching her squirm as she saw me taller than she was used to, more slender and more in power of my own faculties. Yes, I had grown, but was not yet grown-up, not yet who I was used to pretending to be, even from a very young age._

_"Why come now?" She asked with resignation and with the voice of a child in need of a family, and my eyes softened at such a sight. I cradled the hands in her lap, and she permitted me._

_I once again stared at something behind her - the empty table at which a ginger girl was sat, drinking from what I could guess was a glass of honeyed water to wash away the bitterness and burning in her mouth and throat. I scanned past it and saw a retracting figure near a pillar that was made to resemble a Venetian justification for a_ romanze _. He wore fitting black pants that shone in the daylight, probably due to them being made of leather, an item which I hadn't been able to detect before, when I first saw him. He turned his head for a fraction and I saw his black curls gingerly touching his shoulders and his right cheek as he glanced back at me through his oily strands, the green in his eyes once again striking me as familiar, as something I should chase for a better understanding._

 _He smiled a smile that reminded me of both death and life, then turned his head back to his path and went his way out of the filthy and yet luxurious brothel. The spell was broken, but my attention went thus back to Barbara, who was content with spending her remaining five minutes of our encounter not being forced to do absolutely anything, enjoying the silence of her own mind - if she had the indulgence for it. She tossed half her hair back and showed me her black-painted fingernails, such an_ avant-gardiste _fashion at the time, meant to lull the men into embracing the void and the darkness of such places. I was three inches away from her face, her lips, her eyes, held down as if in shame or fear of what was to come. I raised my palm and cupped her cheek, and the instinct she first had was to lean into it, even though it seemed to pain her on a deeper level from her furrowed blonde eyebrows. I approached even more and touched my lips to her forehead, tasting powder and yet being as gentle as I could, closing my eyes and inhaling the seed oil on her skin. I departed with it and watched her eyes raise to my face in utter sadness, and then return to that false calm she had been showing me almost the entire meeting. I breathed into her face and dropped my hand to my side. "I am leaving. Very soon, from what I gather. I believe not to see you again."_

_She was not surprised by my words, probably for not seeing me for three years straight and getting accustomed to it. She then stretched her legs in front of me, letting me feel the smoothness of her dress - letting me know that she could at least afford that -, and stood on her feet in front of me, minimizing the space between us. We were now of the same height, even with the two-year difference. She was, with all the changes, still as I remembered her._

_"Felix Silvester", she said, and, after seeing the surprised look on my face, continued, "The man you were exchanging looks with. One of the girls knew him, but she is not here anymore. He is said to have a ship?" She asked me, as if I knew. Perhaps that it was._

_I didn't inquire more, but I got one hundred_ écus _from my front pocket and handed them to her. "The deal was seventy, thirty are for you. Remind Matron that I still want that bottle of wine." She smiled and hesitated, but took the money and went straight to the back of the hall, where she'd perhaps known the Matron to reside. Indeed the woman came in just a few seconds with the bottle in her hands, and I took it with no further comments._

_The way back to the monastery was quickened by the raising sun on the bright sky, the heat of the moment and the rush I felt in my blood. I ended up running halfway on the hill, but my footwear allowed it. I arrived at the gate out of breath, but did not pause, for I knew I was to be rapid in my action._

_I saluted one sister_ _in the yard, who most certainly was intending on asking me of my lateness and of the bottle I was carrying. I interrupted her by handing her said bottle and saying that I found it appropriate to have myself buy the wine once in a while, taking into consideration just how gently everyone would treat me. Her infuriated face softened and she thanked me._

_"_ De rien. _"_

 _The_ liturgie _was about to begin, and I excused myself. The sisters_ _troubled themselves with late preparations and I went to the kitchens for a piece of bread and some cheese, accompanied by a carafe filled with fresh water. The keys to the cellar were still in my pocket and I didn't hesitate in opening the door with as great care as possible. I almost tripped over Jack in the darkness, but his grunt seemed out of energy, so he said nothing and received the water with greedy gulps and took a few bites from the loaf and the cheese. I patiently waited for him to give me a sign that he was satiated for the time being._

 _"I need to get you out of 'ere", I whispered to him when he finished, leaving the carafe on the floor, not caring if someone discovered it - it was hardly proof of anything. I grabbed him by the arm and he winced in pain from the wound in his side, which needed to be once more checked on once we were more secluded. Fortunately, he wasn't interested in making a fuss out of it, so he just followed my instructions up the stairs and stepped carefully as not to fall and drag me down with him. We managed to the top and I opened the door with a_ creak _, fearing that someone was on the other side of it but at the same time doubting it. We both traversed the courtyard in a few painful steps for Jack - as I was rushing him and making him keep up with my speedy ones - and found ourselves outside of the monastery's land, in the green field where I had found him not even a full day earlier, and I continued to almost drag him with me toward_ Cache _, which was closed and secured and_ my _territory. I pushed him inside and he rested his frame on the wall next to the entrance, so he could catch his breath and take a look at his ribs. His wound was leaking a transparent juice, but I wasn't concerned with it. I, too, rested on a_ tabouret _that seemed to have been left close by, and took a few deep breaths to calm myself after such a great strain of carrying an almost unmovable man for such a long distance._

_The same orange light that was filtered through my not-entirely-transparent windows came into the ground floor, forcing me to close my eyes and inhale some sweet scent reminiscent from few days before, from the opium and the oils. I exhaled then, and with it I saw Jack watching me from his position, wearing an ounce of pain in his eyes from the wound that reopened itself from the stretch. Perspiration clouded his forehead and the tips of his unshaved beard, dark enough to make him seem in the daylight more menacing than he actually was, although I knew not as a fact that he was docile. His presence, though, was soothing to my senses: his curls, black and tangled, caught the rays of the noon in such a way that they looked ablaze, and he was a flame of the void ready to consume and be consumed. I wasn't innocent as I ought to have been, I knew what drove him and made him lose his senses - I could easily guess why the pearls that I had given him all those years ago as thanks for his trouble had not helped him not to become what he was now; I could easily fathom that he could be greedy and corruptible when faced with such issues as losing the only function that could provide him with a title that must have meant he had respect and consideration from others, something which must've lacked in his younger days. Truly, through my intentions to help, I aided him in losing his way; but perhaps he would've found this loss no matter what I had done; perhaps I wasn't to blame for every distress the others had, even though the meeting I'd had with Barbara led me to that impression._

_"How come you dragged me all the way here today?" The sudden rough voice carried me out of my reverie and I focused back on Jack, who was regarding me with lazy curiosity._

_"What do you mean?"_

_"You could've taken me to this place from the start, but you chose to place me in the depth of the monastery first."_

_"It means nothing. If I 'ad forced you to come 'ere last night, you would 'ave died. It was a bigger distance than to the_ cellier _."_

_He nodded at my words and shifted to the other side in order to protect his injury. "You are no nun, then?" I raised from the stool and went to the back of my desk, where I used to keep an emergency concoction for wounds and bloodloss. I wasn't interested in replying to his inquiries, as he was to discover by himself. I uncorked a bottle that was milky white from the distance, and approached Jack again. He was exhausted and I was as well. I went to rub the ointment on the stab-wound, but there was filth and sweat covering its entrance. I stood again and grabbed his forearms, making him tense and try to up._

_"You need a bath", I told him on the way to the back of the little house. I had everything necessary there, aside from a bed, but that as well could have been arranged if I so wished. I sensed Jack wished to retort something, but he abstained due to the pain to his side. Sweat also travelled down my back, making my blouse cling to my back and my mind wondered whether I needed to clean myself as well._

_The bathroom was small, wooden, but the tub was sufficient, and the soap and rags were enough for him to feel a pleasant cleanse. I filled it with water from the basin, which in turn was taking water from the depths of the soil under us, filled to the brim by a river nearby. Jack was resting by the door and awaiting me to finish the preparations so he could unclothe himself. Once he tried to, however, something sharp and hot surged through his veins and he groaned in displeasure at the sting. He couldn't have that liberty of movement yet._

_I approached him and he eyed me wearily, from a height I could not recognize, thus crouched from the pain as he was. His shirt was already discarded and left bloodied on the flood, in pieces from the bandages I had to make out of it. I could see his cut and bruised chest heaving with tremor. He was as tanned as I remembered him, his skin smooth and perfected to a flaw, but now in difference caught in small scars that showed his recent quarrels. I had no intention of entering in his personal space as such, but what did it matter if he wasn't able to tend to himself? I took hold of the hem of his trousers - just as slimy as his shirt -, and pulled at them without paying attention to his masculinity; he seemed to shy away from my touch, but I showed no interest and he relaxed. Once he was completely naked, he moved with difficulty toward the tub, but managed to lower himself into the soothing water, and sighed into the pleasure it provided, most probably numbing the weight of his bones. I took a cloth and rubbed clean his chest, avoiding his ribs, remembering that one of them seemed to have been slightly broken the night before. His breath hitched when I cleaned his wound, but made no move to depart, so I pushed until all the ooze escaped from it and some dried blood clot unplugged the way of the entire so-called circuit. His grunt of inconvenience unnerved me, but then I simply left and let him clean off the rest of his body, as slowly as his strained muscles allowed him._

_The few minutes that had passed behind closed doors seemed to me like an eternity. Jack exited the bathchambers with a sheet around his middle, having regained part of his strength, as if the water itself had been able to wash away the pain. I glanced at his muscles, stretching with the fervour of a tensed man in the presence of the unknown._

_"I will not betray you."_

_He looked at me then, and his wet locks of black hair were tar on his shoulders, dripping fat drops down his chest and into the red gash that had stopped suppurating at last. He was serious for one second, but that old glint of his returned after an imperceptible moment, and he smirked. Saying nothing to my apparent promise - one I wasn't certain why I'd made, for who knew what I was capable of doing were I to find myself in danger and having to sacrifice anything for survival -, he passed me by, leaning onto me with his hip for balance, then sitting himself at my desk. The curtains were drawn shut at once and I lit one candle so that I could continue glimpsing his sculptured face._

_"Do you have clothes here, by any chance?" He moved his head in a questioning poise. I nodded and went to a coffer of more valuable fabrics. I felt one of them by the tips of my fingers, sensing the smoothness of a calico shirt. The colour was a satiated vermilion, thin and cool to the touch. Perhaps not the velvet that was used to be worn in those times by the richest but it was comfortable and light and perfectly usable. I took it our and went to look for a pair of dark brown breeches in the other corner of the large chest. Once I handed them to Jack, I turned and could only hear him huffing in an attempt to keep any noises of discomfort at bay while trying to bend so as to put on the trousers. Once finished, I took the blouse from his trembling hands - he wouldn't've been to leave and tend to himself for a few more days from them, perhaps even a fortnight - and he let me dress him with it, one arm at a time, his once dirtied fingernails now only chopped and uneven when through the sleeves. The buttons were sewn with great care and I showed just as much when I fastened them through the holes of the shirt, covering bit by bit the bruised front of Jack. The gash, an angry red formed around it, was avoided, and I once again took the white ointment from earlier to apply on the wound. A cotton bandage - a rarity to come by - was wrapped around Jack's torso, and then I went a few steps back to take a better look at him. He was still smirking, but without the joy of a better health than the night before. It was a sad sort of amusement, content in a sense of lack of loss - as if he had nothing left to lose. But, judging from his young age, I knew it was merely a response to some sort of betrayal or abandonment by whomever had tried to murder him. He had many chances from then on to find new things to lose, as I was certain he would._

_Jack opened his mouth to speak, but I was first, "You are to sleep in the back. I cannot promise complete_ isolement _\- I need to work until I can depart. Do not worry though. You will leave very soon." I moved in front of a mirror clouded by smoke and herb particles and made my hair in a braid. I saw him behind me, watching me with intent curiosity, not seeming to be in a hurry. Of course: he'd never intended to leave here, for here he had wanted to come in the first place; France was safe for he and I._

_"Thank you..." He approached me and set both hands on my shoulders in a friendly manner, nonetheless making me restrain from tensing my muscles under his palms, "Margot. I like that name. Very suited, considering", he smiled in mild jest, and I accepted his intentional ignorance. Yes, a few more days in blessed lack of solitude and peerless boredom._


	8. Chapter VII: Ever Leaving the Country

**The truth was I was not a cynic by nature, only by revolt. I had got away from what I hated, but I hadn't found where I loved, and so I pretended that there was nowhere to love. Handsomely equipped to fail, I went out into the world.**

_**(** _ **The Magus** _**, John Fowles)** _

* * *

_I had decided for a quiet companionship with Jack in the next few days. As soon as Monday had come, with all its chores and bustling clients, I had the sailor locked in the back of the small house, where I used to keep my medical and naturalist supplies. I understood his indignation one time when he'd told me in a gruff voice that he was just another means to an end - to what end I could not yet understand -, so on the fifth day I arranged for an emptier schedule so that I could properly check on his wounds again._

_Of course, the one on his side was the deepest and ugliest one, produced in a moment of clear fury, but the other ones - the ones spread all over his body, beginning with his face and all the way to his thighs - had been neglected due to the gravity of that one gash, so some had come to have a redness about them, which of course I felt obliged to treat with salve after disinfecting with saltwater - at which Jack had scrunched his teeth in obvious pain and surprise._

_The incident with Victor Caron, however, could not be avoided as a future repetition. I was supposed to call unto him and make use of the money he had paid me. He wished to know what had come of his father, and I wished to simply run off into the world, far away from each vengeful client I had come across in my life._

_And so it happened that one week into my letting the man stay in my store, as I was preparing to close_ Cache _and leave Jack to his improvised bed, the entrance door opened so forcefully that the wind this movement caused knocked off a couple of papers on my desk. The sound startled me immediately and I thanked God for Jack's not being there at the moment, because then I could clearly distinguish Caron's features in the dark. There was a large crease on his forehead, right between his eyebrows, showing his lack of patience - I could easily guess what this was about: I had told him not to pursue me until I found out more of his father's death, and he had been waiting for nine days. I wasn't so impressed with the way he was approaching me, as if he were a predator ready to pounce. I knew I could hold my own in a struggle, as long as I saw it coming; not all of my customers belonged in the high society and, two years before, a gypsy woman had come to inquire about my business and why it was an impediment to hers; of course, she was one to guess one's fortune in Tarot cards and in coffee and chicken bones without actually knowing what she was doing, but still she was pissed at me for stealing all her clients; I had offered her a place to stay for about nine months - until she ran off on a merchant ship - and meanwhile she'd taught me all that she knew about knives. Dumb luck, that was, to have a force of nature at my door, ready to pounce and gut me, only for her to change her mood on a whim - impulse to care for me rather than murder me, all because of my unusually polite reaction to her rage. When at sea, never curse the tide._

_The problem was, however, that I had no sharp object near my person at that time. Of course, anything can be transformed into a weapon if one is crafty enough, but I was not. I relied on my only available weapon then: my words._

_"_ Monsieur Caron, you are back so soon _." My voice quivered, despite my bravado, and it didn't help my situation, as he only approached me further, recognizing that subtle tinge in my tone - the knowledge that I in truth had wanted to avoid him and keep what I had found from him._

 _"_ She - that whore - is to blame, isn't she? _" He was oddly calm for the stern look on his face. I wanted to go around the table, to put that desk between us, to create some distance, but I couldn't. I was suddenly assaulted by a minty scent surrounding me in the presence of Caron, who in two large steps was so close that his stomach almost touched my breasts. I inhaled then - this was much more dangerous than I imagined. "_ She _" - he grabbed me by the upper arms, shaking me and then pushing me into the desk with his body - "_ murdered my damn father _" - some spit landed on my cheek; he was enraged and I was taken by surprise; I had clearly underestimated him._

 _I forced my hand to wipe my face. "_ You know _", I looked straight into his darkened eyes, "_ he had apparently fallen on his back" _, I pressed myself against his form, noticing how he could barely control himself, "_ in the aftermath of ecs-ta-sy _"._

_He had this hazy look of a man that had just heard the most inciting whisper, and his face hardened at the sight of my smirk._

_A smash was what made me jump - if there were such room for movements so ample - and only after a few seconds had I realized that it was the breaking of a bottle; Caron had smashed the one on the desk - which I had forgotten entirely about - and now wine was leaking from the wood onto the floor, next to my feet. The sharp shards of glass twinkled in the daylight - they were mere inches from my left eye, and I couldn't move, upper thighs squished against the edge of the table, right palm trapped by Caron's left, him vibrating this odd tremor that entrapped me and made it hard to breathe, as if he wanted to choke me with his mere presence. I though then: he is going to rape me; he is going to kill me; maybe not even in that exact order. And a tear fell from the corner of my eye, taking me by surprise, as I had probably never truly wept in my entire life._

_"_ Listen here, little girl _", he inched even closer, as if that was possible, and pressed that cutting class at the base of my jaw, restricting me from swallowing that lump forming in my throat, "_ if you so wish to be a woman, then so be it. You cannot prove yourself through integrity, as we both very well know _", he leaned in to whisper into my ear, and his mint cologne was the only thing that helped me breathe, "_ so perhaps you could repay me that money I gave you in other ways. _"_

_It was so cliché, I thought. To piss off a man and then have him assault me. It was pathetic, considering the lengths I had gone to get where I was, free - free in death was not such a nice resolve, after all._

_A mad thought crossed my mind and before I could discern it, I had struck the pig in his shin, and I watched as he buckled, half-bottle almost escaping from his hand and into my neck, making me sprint and collapse a few feet away._

_It was noon and I was bound to have clients. I begged for someone to be there at that hour and started to scream, scream like a lunatic, realizing that everything was moving so slowly: I was on the floor, in the middle of the room, with no way to get to some sort of furniture in the two seconds that took Caron to recover from my hit, and I watched - screaming still - as he made one, two, three full steps and fell onto me like a madman, turning me onto my front, and holding my head tight on the floor, as if wanting to crack it. I couldn't hear and didn't know whether I was still screaming or whether I'd stopped, I couldn't hear whether he was unbuckling his belt, couldn't discern his gritted words of blind rage. No, I was contemplating instead, philosophizing - he wasn't upset about his father's death, he couldn't care less about it; he was angered by the fact that scum like me would try to fool him, and his ego was irrevocably tarnished, needing to be restored - even though what he intended to do was a far cry from rebuilding honour._

_I also didn't hear the gunshot, the weight that crushed me, the wetness that started covering my lower back. I was looking at the door and how it had a little crack in it, thinking it would need some fixing later._

_There was that capacity to breathe again, instantaneous as that weight had been lifted off my frame. Hands grabbed me and turned me around and the movement made me dizzy - I focused on Jack's face, and I was confused; how was he there, wasn't he locked in his small chamber?_

_Apparently not._

_"Bloody hell, Margot, are you alright?" He asked. I could hear again. He was panting and frowning and I looked to my left to see the dead body of Victor Caron in a small pool of blood from a back wound. I could accept that. I could actually embrace that._

_"How-", I took a deep breath and started again, slowly raising from the ground, "How did you get out of there?"_

_Jack grinned, seemingly overly satisfied with himself. "Well. You know, the door is not the most resistant door. And clearly not the most discreet door. I could hear everything that went on in there. I broke it."_

_I huffed. "Do you know French, then?"_

_He smiled._

_I got up and attempted to comb my hair. I look again at the dead body. What could we do with it?_

_"He needs to be buried", said Jack after a while. Right. Where? "Don't worry. I'll take care of this."_

_I froze. Something didn't make sense in this occurrence._

_"Where did you get the pistol from?" I knew I had searched him for weapons, and he had no guns on him, besides the one that I took from his breeches the night I found him. That pistol, as far as I knew, was still locked in one of my chests, for safekeeping. I personally was in possession of none, although perhaps it would've been useful._

_Jack smiled again. I realized then, with a start, that he was, in fact, potentially dangerous. That he spoke in riddles and avoided answering questions, that he was refraining from answering them for a reason, and that I was probably overwhelmed by the situation._

_"Don't you worry your pretty lil' head 'bout it, love. Nothing worrisome here." He cocked the gun and put the safety on, trying it in his hand and then leaving it on my desk. "You might want to keep this. One never knows when it'll be of use when dealing with scoundrels the way you have been." His eyebrows, dark, raised in mock amusement. Eyes, also dark, darker still than I had last seen them, pupils blown and eating away at his irises, watching me as I gathered myself; as I finally came to my senses._

_"Right. I'll close the shop for two hours, but take any longer and it'll rise suspicion. I 'ave a client coming in at one and I don't want her to barge in on a pool of blood."_

_"Are you blaming me of something?" He asked. His tone was relaxed, but his gaze could've extinguished me on the spot. He was a mad dog, this one._

_"Of course not." And I wasn't, not really. I was thankful, more than I could express, but I was also scared out of my wits._

_I could also see this another way. He had voluntarily stayed in his room like I told him to, and he never once touched me, meaning he had no ill intent against me. Probably. Everything was a probability, but now I was more than happy to stay with the assumption that a dangerous man liked me enough to be dangerous_ for _me and not against me._

_He was wrapping the body in some carpet he found in the backroom. The floor was drenched and tainted in red. I didn't think it would ever wash off. I just stood there, useless, watching him do all the heavy-lifting. The body was dumped somewhere and I didn't really want to know more of it, just that it was far far away from everyone's sight, including mine. Jack came back, white shirt now crimson, only to put another carpet over the patches and splotches on the floor._

_He took his clothes off, and I was suddenly slapped with the view of a very naked man in my shop. I looked outside, thinking someone must come by and then they'd see and scream murder, but nobody did. I was alone with him. I closed the curtains - a little privacy for Christ's sake - and then searched for other clothes that he might use._

_"Please don't stand there like that", I told him, and I could feel him smirk behind my back. Fortunately, he stayed silent - his responses, as I'd grown to find out, were usually flippant and witty, mostly sardonic and impertinent. I threw him a pair and an undershirt, forgetting about a blouse - not really caring about one at this point - and when I turned he had the bloodied clothes in his hands._

_"We need to burn these." Yes. But wouldn't that draw attention to us? "Or bury them. Along with the idiot I just shot, eh?" A lopsided grin, and I felt myself relax a little._

_"I need to take a bath. Do what you think is best." I didn't wait for his response, and simply went and drew myself a nice hot bath. I needed to make about three walks to the monastery and back again in order to get it filled with water, and by the time I was done, it was no longer hot, but bordering on cold. It was quick and practical, and I exited much freshened up, wet hair dripping onto new folds of skirt and embroidered shirt._

_Jack was in his room, laid onto the bed. The door was off its hinges. He must've kicked it down to get to me; truly broke it. The thought made me warm, and I softly entered the darkened chamber, windowless as it was, staying put long enough so he could sense my presence, or at least deem it fit with a response. That was a slight movement of the head, signalling that I could enter._

_"_ Mer- _", but then I decided a more honest answer was in order, "Thank you. For saving my life."_

_He turned his head at that. I was sitting on the side of the bed, looking at his chest rising and falling with steady breaths, almost as if he were asleep with his eyes wide open. He cleared his throat. "Thank you for saving mine. Now we're even, aren't we?"_

_I frowned. It wasn't right._

_"If I remember correctly, this was the second time you've saved my life, Jacques Rackham. And I've done nothing but ruin yours." And make you lose your position, just so you could help two lost girls. Was it worth it?_

_He shifted, and his guise was more serious than before. The weird glint in his eye, ever-present, shifted as well, becoming something else. "What do you think would have happened when I got to the island, two weeks later than I did? Your... master, he wanted a deal with me. He wanted me to ship him some cargo to Jamaica? The cargo wasn't pigs, Margot. I would've found out, eventually. Bloody hell, I would've killed him myself. But then, that would've led to even worse repercussions than the ones I have suffered." He looked at me and I looked down. I wondered what exactly he had to face when returning to his higher-in-rank with a couple of pigs and some sun-dried corn, one month later than originally discussed. I wondered if they had stripped him of all power, of all titles and then left him beaten on the side of the road for the dead; or if, perhaps, he had been imprisoned, and managed to escape. Not that I'd ever get a straight answer. "You've done the right thing. You've paid me plenty as well. Stop acting like a damsel, now. It doesn't suit you. You're too young and too fierce for it." He went back to glancing at the ceiling, hands bent underneath his head._

_His torso looked fine. It looked better than fine, even like that, hidden underneath the shirt. He seemed better altogether, and I was going to tell him he might as well take his leave. He didn't need to stay here with me anymore. Yet I found myself speechless, at last surrendering to the want to be with someone, rather than to be with myself alone. Madame Otilia had been right - I was in my small shop almost all the time, never getting out to socialize, to fit in, or to even try to be accepted by the local folk. They knew naught of me. They cared not, I was an orphan in a house, selling herbs and playing with cards that had nice painted pictured on them. What a pathetic little existence._

_Yet better than to be a whore._

_A flash of Barbara shot through my head, and I sighed, breath trembling. I wanted to cry. I really did, and yet I had to be strong. Jack here couldn't have been much of a support, I couldn't even rely on him for all I knew, so I just got up to leave his room._

_"I'll need to lock you in 'ere for a while. I'll be back in the evening though. 'Ave something to eat in the meantime." He huffed and I took it as an agreement._

_I got out and went to the monastery. At the altar it was the quietest, always. I could just kneel and feel myself, my solitude, and God, all combined into one, an absolute being. I needed to pray. For an answer, for a consolation, for a shoulder to cry on. There was only the one God. And He looks upon us like a father, disappointed and yet always waiting for us to return home._

_The afternoon mass was a few hours away. I didn't expect anyone to come here, but someone did. The door opened and the iconostasis became golden with the sunlight coming in. I turned my head, hair covering my face, and saw a girl - her name, her name... slipping my mind._

_"_ Bonjour _", I told her, wiping my face with my skirt. She approached slowly, black veil over her head, hiding a hair so light it almost seemed white. Her blue eyes shone, and she joined me on the floor, in a prayer position._

 _"_ Hello, Margot. _" I was surprised. I didn't know many from the monastery knew my name. What did she want? "_ How are you holding up? _" I blinked at her, waiting for her to explain herself. "_ I know of the man, Margot. _"_

_Excuse me?_

_"_ Pardon? _" I asked with a straight face. Hiding a fugitive was a felony. This was very,_ very _bad._

 _"_ Don't be so scared. I saw him when I went to the cellar a few weeks ago. He was passed out, with wounds that someone had tended to. I'm sure that, with all their claim on mercy, none of the sisters would have taken the risk of helping out such a man. It had to have been you then. _"_

_I looked at her. Her face was genuine and pure. If she had known of this for so long and hadn't told anyone, then what did she want?_

_Thinking even more, I realized that I was the one in possession of the keys during the time he was held in the cellar. It would've been impossible for her to even get there, unless..._

_"_ Do you have the spare keys? _"_

 _"_ I do. _" She said, and I wondered what in the world she would do with a second set of keys. She wasn't supposed to have them, and Marie probably knew nothing of it. We only held ointments, myrrh and liquors in the cellar. Nothing of great importance, besides some pieces of silverware - had she been stealing? What was going on?_

 _"_ What do you want? _"_ _I finally asked her, but my voice trembled. I was scared, and in over my head. I wanted to flee, but had nowhere to go._

_She smiled, and my heart warmed at the sight. The slight turn of her lips comforted me, and I relaxed, if only for a bit. She had that kind of smile that exudes trust and kindness, no matter the reality behind it._

_"_ Why would I want anything? I respect you. _" My eyebrows went up at her confession. "_ When I came to this place two years ago, I also had no one. My father had given me away when mother passed. I felt utterly abandoned, and yet I sought solace in God and His Grace. You sought solace in independence. But you must admit, you can't do all on your own. _"_

 _"_ What is it that you want? _"_ _I repeated._

 _"_ I could be a sister to you. _"_ _I examined her. She couldn't have been older than eighteen. I was in desperate need of a sister, so I said nothing._ _"_ Do you know who changes your linen and prepares you food each morning? _"_ _I had always suspected it to have been Marie. She was mostly annoyed with me, yet had a kind heart._ _"_ It was me _"_ , _she continued._

 _"_ You? _"_

 _"_ Yes _", she chuckled,_ _"_ why are you so surprised? Marie wanted to let you by yourself. She actually intended for you to become an errand girl once you turned thirteen. I didn't think it fitted you. _"_

 _"_ And you want nothing else but to help me? _" My voice was incredulous, and she smiled again, nodding. "_ How can that be? _"_

 _"_ I think small gestures are the ones that count. You need this man gone, and I will arrange for it. I know someone who is currently accosted at the port. Their transactions are suspicious, to say the least, but they are as gentlemanly as they come. All shall be resolved. _"_

 _"_ Who is this person? _"_

 _"_ Captain Silvester _", she said, and I almost gasped._

 _"_ Listen - I'm sorry, I don't even know your name. _" I was ashamed. Deeply, and I knew I was mistaken to play this part, to do all these stupid things, to assume a different name, a different nationality, a different age, and for what? Because of my bloody kin. Bloodied as well, most probably, and I had to swallow the lump that formed in my throat._

 _"_ It is Lilianne. _"_

 _"_ Lilianne, I- I think I know this man. Captain Silvester. I intended to speak with him personally. Perhaps you could accompany me? _" There was hope in my voice, and she caught on it._

 _"_ Of course. Three more days he'll be here, and then he'll take off. Do you wish to go tomorrow? _"_

 _It was fast business. I thought for a few minutes, but hearing the front door creak once more, I hurriedly, whispered a "_ Oui _" and got up, helping her to her feet as well. She was not much taller than me, but her slender for and swan neck offered her such finesse, that I felt like a savage. "_ Meet me tonight _", I added and she nodded, and I held her gaze a while longer, silently asking her to keep all this a secret, knowing that she would. She nodded again, and I bumped into some other nun on my way out, and she muttered a "_ Mon Dieu _" while shaking her head, disapprovingly. Soon, very soon, I'll be gone from here._

_When I returned to_ Cache _, I took some wine with me from the distillery. These were the last days Jack would be spending here. He told me that France was safe, for the both of us, implying that he was as well on the run from the British- was I on the run from them? I didn't think so. As long as they didn't know my name and didn't look it up to see whether I need to be put out or not, I was safe. I had no papers of my own, no certificate to attest to either lies or truths that may come out of my mouth. If I told them they all got burnt in a fire, that would be the closest thing to truth. Even so, England gave me goosebumps, and not the pleasant kind. Thinking that there might be more out there gentlemen being nothing gentle behind closed doors, asserting law and yet breaking it when the eye of society wasn't cast on them- that thought alone was all I needed to stay far, far away from England. Jack said he no longer considered himself English, which was all and well, but he couldn't stay here either. He'd killed a man, and I was an accessory to murder. Someone was bound to come and investigate. My business was not very hush-hush, but the topic of the occult had always been taboo. My clients either kept their coming to me a secret, or they had enough power not to care about what others might think of them. Victor Caron, unfortunately, fell into the latter category. That meant he had possibly let someone else know that he was to be found at Cache, from where he'd never returned. I was the number one suspect, and I had three days at most to get out of there, along with Jack - I couldn't leave him behind to deal with a mess that was partially my fault. I didn't know what it was, but I grew rather fond of him, even if still apprehensive of his motives. He did save me once - twice, I needed to remind myself - and still, the dark glint of his eyes after the shot, two black holes ready to suck me in... dangerous territory._

_He was asleep when I unlocked his door. It was evening, and I made to prepare some food for the both of us. In a few hours I was to meet with Lilianne._

_I was surprised - and scared, I must admit - when I felt two hands on my shoulders sneaking up from behind me, and when I heard a sleep-infused voice mumbling "This smells good" while leaning even further into me to get a better sniff at the stew. It was the simplest thing I knew how to make, and the warmest. I felt cold this evening, amd I welcomed the heat from the body next to me, but I shook it off when the feeling of unease at the proximity wouldn't subside._

_"'Ere", I have him a bowl and a spoon, and we sat together at a small wooden table. We ate in silence, and Jack's movements, although slow from his exertion that day, showed improvement in his condition. "'Ow's your side?" I asked him after gulping down a bite. I hadn't realized I was so hungry._

_He eyed me up and down, almost smirking to himself. "Much better. I can walk round and about."_

_"Jacques, you 'ave been seen." He raised an eyebrow. He wasn't as troubled as I expected, or he knew how to hide it behind crystal clear eyes. "One of the sisters in the monastery. She wants to help."_

_"Help how?"_

_"We are going to leave. Three days."_

_"We?" He was calm, but confusion was there, hidden in the creases formed prematurely in the corners of his eyes from squinting too much in the sun. He took a sip from the small amount of wine I poured into his glass, obviously restraining himself from downing it in one gulp._

_"_ Oui _. I and you. There's a man at the docks who might lend us a hand. Or a ship."_ _He stiffed at the mention of a man, and I instantly thought of his injuries. God, I hoped this wasn't the case. "What's the name of the one who stabbed you again?" I tried to maintain a casual tone, but ut was strained._

_"Hyacinthe. An imbecilic Frog, not understanding that at sea and under no flag, we are all the same." His use of the derogatory term showed me he hadn't bought for one second that I was French. I chose to close an eye to it._

_"Alright." I believed no word that came out of his mouth. He wanted to keep his past a secret, then so would I. In all reality, his wanting to hide, even knowing that I had some sort of comprehension of his situation, showed me further that I could not trust him. This was a man used to betrayal, long having given up on the idea of trust, which only mean that he was out for himself alone. He might have blown somebody's brains out for me, he might have joked once too often and grinned like a cat laid out in the sun for too long whenever I did something the way he wanted, but it was all false charm, a way of survival. Know the person and become what they desire. I knew all the tactics, tactics overused by myself as well, especially when I had to deal with questions from the townspeople trying to get a hold of me. Asking me why am I alone in a voodoo shop all day; what have my parents done to leave me all alone; how old was I and whether I was a little thief, sharp-tongued only to distract them until I get my slithe fingers on their coins; whether I was a con, whether I was some whore escaped from Matrelle Isabelle's brothel. And many, many other inquiries that showed just how much these people liked myths and legends and plain gossip. I shook my head to clear my head, returning my thoughts to what I needed now to discuss. "Then you'd 'ave no problem sailing under a Felix Silvester, would you?"_

_He looked up. "Never heard of 'im." After a few more bites, he finished his portion and pushed the bowl away. Clasping his hands together against his belly and minding the still-scarring wound, he looked amused. "Do you trust these two? The nun and_ Felix Silvester _? Sounds like the name of a fox, dear, and I tend not to rely on foxes that much."_

_Did I trust them?_

_"I trust that this is your only way out. And I cannot stay 'ere any longer."_

_"I knew the sea called to you. I saw it from the moment you boarded my ship. When we landed, well. I cannot say it was complete satisfaction that I spotted on your face." His shite-eating grin was getting on my nerves, but for once it seemed half-genuine._

_"It's not the sea", I countered, "so much as it's the freedom." Freedom that I still didn't have. Not with Barbara murdering her clients, not with my own clients trying to murder me. Not with the wrath of God bestowed upon me by the eyes of every nun in the monastery but two. I needed out._

_"Don't you know?" He asked me with incredulity, a lilt in his voice that showed both humour and extreme seriousness. "They're one and the same."_

_Lilianne was somewhat distressed when I saw and stopped her on her way out of the cellar. She kept looking around, round eyes searching for something, for a dark and silent corner where we could speak._

_"_ What's the plan? _" I immediately asked, and she frowned._

 _"_ It isn't a plan, but a hope. Captain Silvester is to expect us in port on the morrow at the first creak of light. We need to sneak your man out and onto a boat. _"_

 _"_ A boat, you say? I thought it was meant to be a ship _."_

 _"_ Did you think he'd have let just any strange come aboard his ship? Margot, you know nothing of the world. _"_

 _"_ As long as that is exactly what I intend on asking of him for myself, I expect it to happen _."_

 _"_ What do you mean? _"_

 _"_ I want aboard his ship _."_

 _"_ But you don't know him. And he doesn't know you. What would you do on a ship? _"_

 _"I'd get away." She looks aside. "_ From an unsuitable life, Lilianne. I'm meant for travel. I've seen so many places in my head while reading books. I now want to see them with my own two eyes. I've grown increasingly restless over the years. _" It wasn't a complete lie. Yet it wasn't the main reason either - I simply wanted to slip away from coppers banging down my door, and finding Caron buried under the house, gunshot in the head, murder weapon in my drawer. Of course, I wasn't going to let her in on something like that. But, like two misfits understanding each other's ways, I and Jack knew to keep it a secret._

 _"_ You cannot fend for yourself _", she says determinedly._

 _"_ I can learn. _"_

 _She sighs. "_ Be there, first hour. You and the man _."_

 _"_ Didn't you say the Captain leaves in three days? _"_

 _"_ Yes, I did. But he changed his mind. He said there's a storm coming in a week, and he doesn't want it to catch him at sea. _"_

_In the past days I had neglected to return and sleep in my bed at the monastery, instead opting for the improvised hammock hanged upstairs at_ Cache _. I had no idea someone might have missed my presence there - I had done it to be nearer Jack, to keep an eye on him. It gave me a sense of control of the situation even if he proved me himself that he could pick the lock or knock the door down whenever he wanted and that he chose to stay merely out of convenience. Even so, I never expected him to get out of his room and wanted about the store, only to wind up on the first floor, observing me from the doorway. His darkness betrayed years of hard life and events that had probably been of an unspeakable nature. My tongue irked me to ask the questions, but I wouldn't let it, knowing the answers would never satisfy me._

"Oui? _" I was about to put out the light for tonight and get some rest, but he seemed to have had other plans._

_He sighed. Stepping over the threshold, he averted his eyes from me only to look around the place, picking up the opium funnel and mimicking an inhale. Cocking a brow, he put it back and casually said, "You know, you don't need to do that."_

_It caught me by surprise and my impulse was to play dumb. "What do you mean?"_

_He grinned once more, that kind of empty show of teeth that says 'I need to smile so you don't see my tears'. He even huffed a laugh, short and cutting, and that's when I noticed his face was shaved. When I had seen him, all bloodied and dirty near the monastery, I couldn't even recognize him. His eyes and his name were the only things that I could cling to, that could somewhat form an image in my mind, that of a young lad, much to young to have been captain, that had done something for me that no one else in the world would. As the days passed, this disheveled look, with long and tangles hair and patches of dark beard, had come to grow on me, and I associated it with whatever Jack had become: a sailor, a pirate, a thief. I didn't much care. But now, with his face like brass from tanning under the ocean sun, unusually smooth and finally healed from all the bruises it had endured from blows, I remembered him. He had changed immensely, sharper jaw, high cheekbones more defined, crease between his eyebrows more pronounced, yet I remembered him. He looked like a stray cat, the kind that is so beautiful you just have to take it home; and after you bathe it, after you tend to it and to the cuts it's got from scratching with other stray cats on the streets, after giving it food and shelter and comfort - because it's just that sort of cat that lingers about you and craves for attention and rubs against your feet faking a liking to you personally - after all that, when you are of no use to it anymore the cat vanishes into thin air, never to be seen again, taking with it scraps and rings and whatever it is that cats like to play with, shiny and expensive, likely to be lost forever in the greed that defines their being, so self-concerned as they are. Yes, Jack was like one of those cats, and his eyes, both light and dark, made me take a step back, and I chastised myself for it. Stupid, stupid for doing something like that with a felon not even two feet away from you._

_"We are very much alike, you and I", and I agreed to a certain extent, "we do things to survive. Life has thrown at us all that she's got, from the very start. For you to so desperately want to speak like that, to pose like that... to even change your name for me? Why, your family must've done something quite terrible then. On the loose, thinking the authorities care for a girl as young as yourself - you must surely believe they remember who your blood were. But let me tell you something:_ They don't. _They don't give a single shite, girl, they don't keep count of the people they've murdered or the people they've put out for market. It's all business to them. Who the hell do you think runs the Kingdom if not Great Economy itself? Well, we all bow to it, and all there's ever been in the world, all the arguments, wars, disputes between the Church and the Reign, between one order and another, they all revolve around money, my dear. So stop pretending that I'm not on your side. Have you never heard of the saying 'my enemy's enemy is my friend'? Do you actually think that I'd go running back to the Navy and spill information to them if I knew who you really were? What kind of person do you think I am then, eh?"_

_He was closer now, much closer than comfortable, and his voice and gotten increasingly louder with each sentence. Of course he was pissed. He put his neck out to get me out of trouble and my first instinct had been to conceal the bare minimum from him. A child's instinct, I had to remind myself, and I suddenly felt overwhelmed with the weight I had put on my shoulders. I heaved a sigh, more like a big gulp of air, and the air was warm with our mingled breaths. He stood still as a rock, but I could feel him vibrate before me. I myself was a wire ready to jump, and I blurted the first thing that I could._

_"My name is Angelica Vurvot." I waited for him to assess me, as I knew he would, and continued, "It's due time I told you. They were part of the Order of the Dragon. Winston told me himself that they were being chased for that very reason. I didn't understand all the implications at the time, and when I came to an age that I could, I didn't want to bother anymore. I know why they were fleeing the East, but have no idea what the British have to do with it. It is, to my knowledge, none of their concern." I huffed a breath and felt it ricochet into Jack's chest and right back at me. He seemed much taller all of a sudden, unmoving as he was, silent. "You understand, I suppose, that since they've been hunted down, I thought the name would bring with it the same fate."_

_Jack laughed. It was so unexpected that I flinched and recoiled, looking up at him in shock. "Don't you know", he started after his laughing fit finally subsided, leaving behind remains of the permanent amused glint in his eyes, "that Britain support the Ottoman Empire Wholeheartedly? I wonder, how did your parents travel all the way from Eastern Europe to some island in the Caribbeans, hm?" He acknowledged me, lifting one hand to cup my face in a rather submissive manner. "They must've been spies or something of the sorts on behalf of the order. Getting hold of any British documents that would prove collaboration with the Ottomans. That's the only explanation I see."_

_I gulped. I hadn't given it much thought. Even then, what did it concern me? It didn't. "They could've been simple nomads."_ _He lifted his brows at that, and turned my head from one side to the other, examining my profile with utmost attention._

 _"Yes, they could have." And then he let go of my chin, but the closeness remained, and I felt a nervousness unknown to me. "We'll never find out. Winston finished them, yes?" I glared at him. "What, has he told you otherwise? Has he told you that he let them go? That they were_ on the loose _? 'Don't worry, little Angelica, they are fine and well. They loved you so much that they left you behind for me, so they can escape.' Pardon_ me _, but I have heard such phrases all too much throughout my life. From people I knew very well nonetheless. I have yet to meet one who actually means it too." His stare was hard. He seemed disgusted at the prospect. Probably lived his entire life surrounded by such men, growing up near them and hence he became captain at no more than sixteen? Quite a feat. "There is a question I have been asking myself all these years, though. How_ did _you manage to copy Winston's writing so very well in the letter you sent me? Are you a born forger as well?_ _" He smirked at that, and his voice took a particular lilt when asking the question, playful yet contrived, setting the scene for an act._

_I found the corner of my lip lifting upward in turn. "I've never copied any writing, Jack", a lie, because George had had me do all his dirty little work, didn't want to get his hands stained with unlawful ink, "All the correspondence between he and you had come from this hand directly", I said, lifting my right palm and wriggling my fingers in the air._

_"Well", a rather surprised high in his tone told me he was impressed, "that means you are quite versed in the art of scamming and conniving, aren't you?" He took a step further and I took an instinctively step back. I remembered the night with Caron, exactly in this place and in this position, and I gulped rather audibly. "Of course, behind the mask of papers the lies come quite easily, don't they?" There was almost no space left between us, barely an inch, and I felt excited and frightened at the prospect, all at once, which was a significant difference to when I found myself alone with Caron like this. "I remember you told me - and I do hope my memory doesn't fail me now 'cause that would be inconvenient wouldn't it - I remember you said, in one of those days we spent together in my cabin on the ship to France, that you and that girl-friend of yours were the same age. Am I wrong? No, and you said to me, it comes to me quite clearly now, that you were both fourteen years of age. The both of you. Is that right?" His tone, menacing, or something close to menacing, told me to nod so I did. I couldn't meed his eyes. "That would make you..." he sat thinking, or pretending to, for about three seconds, "... seventeen now, does it? You are seventeen now." He cradled my face again, firm yet soothing grip with his not-so-rough fingers,_ making _me look him in the eyes, and for the first time until then, what with the blue hue that the light took - it was approaching dawn - entering through a small window, I saw the blue, blue ring of his irises. In the centre, a wide black circle, engulfing everything. The kind of blue eyes that don't refract an inner light, but rather absorb all darkness, appearing black at most times. I was shocked by this reveal, and even more shocked when the finger once on my cheek was not pushing past my lips, testing their plumpness. "God, but you're beautiful." A whispered awe, and I didn't have time to flush at the words, because he kissed me, and it hurt, his mouth clashing over mine in a sudden motion, upsetting my skin into redness. I sucked in a breath through my nose and forgot to let it out, at some point I closed my eyes, and everything was happening so very swiftly, with a certain smoothness that was not all passion, but curiosity. I did not respond, but rather let my lips be claimed, passive and soft, malleable to his own, and I was utterly underwater when he decided to wet his lips, thus flick his tongue and touch mine in the process, and I gasped, letting out the long-forgotten breath, and he took that as an opportunity, because he was nothing if not an opportunistic lad, young yet with lifetimes of experience, hardened and molded by them into whatever it was that he had become. My hand, once in the air, was now gripping his shirt, and he pressed into me, effectively trapping me between his body and the table behind me, letting me feel_ him _. There was a voice then, fuzzy in my brain, and I tried to ignore it, but it was becoming louder and louder, until Jack_ stopped _. All motion stood still, and as I was catching my breath I heard it again, the voice - the voices - downstairs, shouting in French and demanding that I - that Margot Févron - be present at the door and open it, as they have some questions._

_The change of atmosphere confused me, and I had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself. I glared at Jack - it was his fault, this was stupid and entirely unnecessary, and God was in that moment an innocent, because I had zero clues as to what this man wanted from me. And Jack just looked unfazed, heaving a breath himself, turning to listen better to the men._

_Gathering my thoughts, I asked him, "Jack... where exactly have you buried the body?"_

_I saw panic flickering his eyes for a fraction, so quickly what I thought it a figment of my imagination. He laughed, and I despised him for it. "In the backyard, love. Put a flower over the dirt as well, very nice grave if you ask me."_

_I looked at myself, crumpled shirt anticked from my skirts - when did that even happen? - and decided that I'd better not upset the marshals. "Stay here", I pointed my finger at Jack, hoping that he'd actually do that this time, and put myself together, going downstairs to see what all this fuss was about._

_When I opened the door, the men looked outraged. Mustaches in place, they looked past me into the store, surveilling the perimetre, as if Caron would have popped up from behind my desk or something. "_ Madmoiselle Févron _", one of them said, "_ why weren't you answering the door? _" His pissed off face pissed me off, because, in actuality, he had no right. But what did rights even mean at the time? Nothing._

 _"_ I'm sorry, Monsieur, I was sleeping. It took me a while to wake. Thank you for being loud enough _." I gave him a tight smile._

 _"_ We need to know- _"_

 _"_ Are you alone, Mademoiselle Févron? _" The other man interrupted the first one, perhaps changing tactics._

"I do not have company here. Nor am I anyone's company, if that is what you or the townspeople are implying _."_

 _"_ We are not implying anything, Mademoiselle _."_

 _"_ Then why are you here? _" I was not going to let them inside at any cost._

 _They both hesitated to answer. Looking at each other - they looked quite_ like _each other - they seemed to settle on something. "_ You have had a... client. Come here almost a fortnight ago. Monsieur Caron _."_

 _"_ Oui _."_

 _"_ And, from what we understand, he returned today _."_

 _"_ Oui _." I prayed the wouldn't hear my heart pounding out of my chest._

"Could you tell us exactly what it is you have been doing for him?"

"His father died. In a brothel, no less. His son couldn't accept that he might have had a heart attack in the throes of passion."

"And what did you have to do with it?"

"I have means of showing him the truth. That's what he came here for."

"And what is the truth?"

 _I frowned._ "I wouldn't know, Monsieur. He is the one who saw. Listen, the marshal who came here three years ago had nothing against my business."

"We are not here regarding your business, Mademoiselle. We are here about Monsieur Caron."

"Oui, but I haven't seen him since today at noon." _Which wasn't a lie._

"What did he tell you?"

"He was quite troubled", _I was fortunately prepared for a scenario,_ "He kept rambling about a murder. He did say he'd mentioned his concerns to the officials, and that he'd been ignored. I just hope he hasn't taken matters into his own hands."

_They blinked. They seemed, honestly, very dumb and gullible, but since they didn't seem to have taken a liking to me, they might very well have tried to find something to get me with. They kept looking into the dark room behind me, not even once having their eyes landing on the rather inadequate carpet thrown over the bloodied floor._

"Très bien." _Their uniforms stood out as blueish in the vague pink light of the morning dew, settling in the air. My hand on my hip propped me as more annoyed than afraid._ "We will be back later today."

"Wait!" _They turned their heads simultaneously._ "What happened? Did Monsieur Caron do something?"

"No, Mademoiselle." _They left, just like that, and I could tell they had smelled something fishy. I closed the door, and looked out the window to watch them walk away. I was half expecting them to turn and catch me with Jack in the attic, but they didn't. Their bodies disappeared like shadows back between the houses of Étretat, and I knew this was the time for us to leave, lest they return as they had promised._

_Sprinting upstairs, I whispered to Jack to gather his things - a water bag, or what I thought was water, and one set of spare clothing - and follow me out. I hoped this was considered the first hour in the morning, for time was precious and I couldn't afford to lose any_

_The walk took longer than expected. Jack was clumsy, a hand to his side every few seconds. I wondered if the wound had reopened over the night, whether the stress had somehow affected the healing or scarring process. Neglecting to inquire, I hoped nothing would come of it._

_At the docks a tall man waited - the same lean, sharp-faced, green-eyed man from the brothel, just as Barbara had told me. He looked pristine and, in my opinion, out of place next to such a grand ship, unless he was from the Navy._ _Next to him was Lilianne, who had also been waiting for us._

 _"_ Salut, Lilianne. This is Jacques _", I motioned to Jack, "_ He doesn't know French that well. At least I don't think he does _."_

_"Pleased to make your acquaintance", said Lilianne, in English, which surprised me. Foreign language was not something ordinary people just knew. She also was bold enough to stay there, alone, next to two other men, as a nun - what exactly was it about her?_

_My eyes asked her silently 'How do you know English?' and she answered by introducing me to Captain Silvester. "Margot, this is Captain Silvester from_ HMS Velocity _. Captain, this is Miss Févron, like we discussed."_

_It was now that I was truly looking at him, and his gaze pinned me to the ground. He gently approached and picked up my hand, only to place a courteous kiss on the back of it. I didn't remember ever having my hand kissed before. It felt quite pleasant._

_"Captain", I started, "I know this comes at such a short notice and I know you must think me a simpleton searching for mere adventure... but I need to get away from here. I and..." I hesitated to categorize Jack as anything, "This man with me. You must be a merchant, correct?"_

_The Captain's eyes glittered like two gems. He looked so pale, as if he'd never sailed under the sun. A ghastly appearance, but for the fire in his irises. "Miss Févron", his intrigued gaze held mine and I slowly shook my head, answering his unsaid question, "no need for such formalities. Lilianne told me everything. We're to depart in an hour. As for the man who is with you, I cannot promise a place on my ship. I'm not sure you're aware, but he is a fugitive from the law, and harbouring such a man would only lead to both our - I'd say, premature - deaths. But I will grant him a boat, big enough for five. There are some men here who also wish to join us and have been declined, but offered a place on said boat. They shall sail together, and make of it what they can, as I understand neither can remain on these shores."_

_His English was just as perfect as his appearance. An accent of a clarity I'd never heard before. A rumble coming from deep within his throat, soothing and persuasive. Obviously a merchant then. Of what, I had yet to discover._

_I wanted to know how much he knew. He seemed to possess beyond natural abilities, guessing who Jack is, guessing that he might have done something in his short stay here that would put him in quite a danger, such as it was. I wanted to tell this man that I didn't have one hour, that I needed to leave this instant, but decided against it at the sight of his stern appearance, unclinting._

_I saw Jack's boat. He kept silent during the entire ordeal, seeming almost resigned, but at a later assessment I realized he was simply observing each and everyone of us. And so, I saw Jack's boat. It wasn't big, but it wasn't a piece of wood to be taken away by any wave. Four other men came, rather dirty and unkempt, crass and with teeth missing. They smelled of fish, were probably fishermen, and they eyed I and Lilianne wearily before climbing into the boat and getting ready for sailing away. I knew almost nothing of navigation, but I promised myself I'd learn._

_I grabbed Jack by the hand, and the familiarity surprised the both of us. "Will you be alright?" It was an idiotic question. He grinned, a façade again, and shrugged._

_"Will you find a suited name this time?" I laughed. It was none of each other's business, our concerns, so I just tightened my hold on his hand, silently saying goodbye._

_When the Captain motioned for me to get onto the ship, I was surprised to see Lilianne not two feet behind me. With her on the main deck, I realized she would come along._

_"I know Captain Silvester." I nodded. So she'd said. "No, Margot. I_ know _him. He's the main reason my father sent me to the nunnery in the first place."_

_I couldn't respond with anything, as a shout came from the right. It was Jack. I saw a pistol in his belt that I hadn't seen before, and understood that he must've had it hidden somewhere during the discussion with Captain Silvester, so as not to disturb the spirits. I leaned over the deck and looked at him. "What is it?" I shouted back._

_His grin warmed me. I didn't remember him ever giving me a show of his teeth like that, and they were white as pearls. It was genuine as well, with a hint of mischief, when he said, "I'm quite sure fate hates us both enough to bring us back together." I almost agreed to that. "Ta, Angelica."_

_I waved at him as he set sail. Some people had gathered on the shore, I had just noticed myself, as the morning mist was obstructing my vision and making all seem more aerial than it really was. The people were shouting obscenities, figuring out that the five men were - as they had called them - scoundrels and ineffable mongrels that deserved to rot in hell. It upset me, the sound of raging and anxious voices calling out for retribution, for the end of crime and assault, and so on. What had these men done to deserve it? What had Jack done? They certainly didn't know him. But then again, truth depends on which side you're on. I had no knowledge of ever siding with anyone._

_The presence of another body next to mine took me by surprise. "Relax, Miss Févron", said Captain Silvester, serene as always, hands clasped behind his back in a gesture of complete control. "This is just another of the town's long list of gossip. It'll die as soon as it was born." He then turned to me fully. "Is there anyone you'd like to say good-bye to?"_

_I thought of Barbara._

_"No."_

_More men came aboard, and the anchor was lifted. The soft sweep of the waves rocked the ship left and right, yet I didn't find it difficult to adjust my footing to it. Sea legs, they're called, and I had them without much practice. The wonderfully green vision of Étretat became smaller and smaller, swallowed by the impenetrable fog, clouding my senses until I though I was dreaming. Lilianne disappeared at some point from beside me, and I went to look for her._

_The deck was empty. I looked up and could see no one on the mast, no one at the the helm. Actually, there was no mast and no helm in the crowded white that covered the entire ship. Hidden away in a world of illusions, I stepped carefully until I reached the Captain's Cabin. No sound besides the rhythmic splash of the water against the hull. I knocked, almost ripping the quietness apart, and I was relieved to see the Captain opening the door, sleeves rolled to uncover his pale forearms - I furtively wondered whether he always sailed in fog._

_"Come in", he said, and I did. Closing the door behind him, he sat at his desk and played with a compass while looking at me expectantly. "Well?"_

_"Where-", I glanced around, distracted by this light - was that a kaleidoscope? - and by the many trinkets on his shelves and on the walls: carved lizards, golden skulls, raw gems, and statuettes of gods I knew nothing of. What a wonder, a collection of oddities all around me, and I lost my trail of thought while looking at the various shapes and colours of them. Regaining my senses, I looked back at him. "Where are we heading exactly?"_

_"The Mediterranean." Oh. That was alright then._

_"Understood. And where is Lilianne?"_

_"On the main deck, I assume." I hadn't seen her there. Of course, I couldn't see anything. "Be careful not to topple over." The way he said it made my skin crawl. He was an odd fellow, that was for sure. I wasn't entire certain he was English, although his accent was impeccable. Not caring for who I was it seemed, so I was supposed to also ignore my gut feeling that told me something was amiss._

_On my way out, Lilianne was just on her way in. We collided and I took her by the arm and dragged her onto the stairs, sitting down so we could talk. "Who is he to you?" I demanded._

_"_ Pardone moi? _"_

_"Just an hour ago, your English was perfect, Lilianne." I have her a stern look, which she returned. She was still dressed as a nun, although she lost the veil over her head. Her hair was now free and wild, moving with the wind and revealing it's magnificent smooth length._

_"Just an hour ago, you were still Margot. And yet that is changed, isn't it?"_

_"What is he to you?" I asked again, ignoring her jab._

_"We're lovers", she stated simply. "We have been, for three years. And you? How do you know him?"_

_"How do you know that I know him?"_

_"I saw your face when you approached the docks. Recognition was all over your expression."_

_"I saw him several days ago. In town."_

_"Where?"_

_"In a brothel." She smiled. I didn't know how to react to her smile. My phrasing might have been off, but she understood it either way. She seemed content, and I admired her for it, as much as I couldn't believe the authenticity of her feelings. "Does it not bother you?"_

_She blinked. "Why would it?"_

_I didn't push for more. What a strange couple. What a strange occurrence._

_What a strange weather. Humid and cold, making goosebumps appear on my arms and sweat blister on my forehead. It made no sense whatsoever._

_I got up to survey the perimeter. All directions looked the same - an interminable white, a dark blue underneath it, obstructed view from the rising sun, an almost smokey smell entering my nostrils and making me choke. I felt dizzy, and light, the haze having me unsure of my own two feet, until I felt the woodboard underneath me. I had fallen and yet no pain from the sudden contact with the hard surface. "I might be ill", I thought out loud, but Lilianne heard me anyway and got me up and to a free cabin with a small bed. Laying me on the mattress, she combed through my tangled hair and whispered, "We'll talk more of it tomorrow."_

_I fell asleep without realizing._


	9. Chapter VIII: Collector of Odds

**"An answer is always a form of death."**   
**...  
"I think questions are a form of life."**

**_(_ The Magus _, John Fowles)_ **

* * *

_It seemed imperative that I remained still as a hauled-on fish, laying on the bed and not even trying to move the tips of my fingers. Not only was I not able to, but the trial and failure of it brought such a pain in my brain, that I could not even hear myself think, hear my mind try to discern the place that I was kept in. The loud voices in my head boomed, like a chorus of doomed souls, speaking to me, beguiling and deceptive, telling me to let go._

_I was annoyed, as much as the throbbing in my temples allowed me. I wanted to screech at the feeling, but my lips, as well, were immobile. Kill me, the mouth dareth speak, but movement was naught, so the illusory silence in the room was not yet disturbed by my rambling psyche._

_Gradually, the texture of the sheets were being introduced to my bare legs. I did not remember uncovering them, but then again, I had no idea where I was. Such a soft light, trespassing my lids and caressing my eyes, and yet it felt like a sting. I opened them, or they opened by themselves, and blurred lines of brown barrels caught in one another, and I could not distinguish where the window ended and the door began. What a horrible notion, to wake up confined in an unknown place._

_Numbness turned to a tingling sensation, which turned to an overwhelming pain, taking hold of each muscle in my body. My stomach turned, and my abstinence from movement was suddenly broken by my immediate need to get up and heave my insides all the way out. A bucket had been placed right next to the bed, and I retched in it, feeling even worse than before. The memory slowly returned to me. This was not me being sea-sick, this was a far weirder scenario. I wanted to shout for help, for the Captain to come and speak to me, to tell me what the hell was going on. Alas, I was currently a mute, and another wave of nausea hit me. Somebody had foreseen all this, as I could tell, and that concerned me more than anything. Lilianne. Lilianne knew, most probably, and she was as much of a suspect as Captain Silvester._

_Something wet soaked the bed and my skirt. I hiked it up above my hips and saw red, blood covering the white sheets and my inner thighs. The linen was double, I saw, but I felt filthy._

_The door opened suddenly and I flinched, trying to cover myself up again._

_"Ah, the culprit", I said, and Lilianne made way for the bed, but stopped when she smelled the air in the room._

_"Are you alright?" Her tone was cautious, but she held herself with such grace. Royal blue dress made her eyes pop out, like sapphires framed in the golden sand of her hair. Distinct beauty was what defined her, and her presence diminished my impulse to retch once more, at least for the moment._

_"What happened?"_

_"Well, you fell-"_

_"No, Lili. What happened?" I let the nickname slip my tongue, only so I could show her that I was not upset, that I only wanted the truth. She knew I wasn't that stupid._

_Sighing, she picked up the bucket from the floor and left to take out its contents. Returning no less than two minutes later, with fresh clothes, cloths and bedsheets, she approached me again._

_"Here_. _Clean yourself with this and change. I suppose you know what this is, don't you?" Of course I knew. It was about time, after all. I felt quite inexperienced, though, so I looked at her with quite a helpless expression. She picked up on my line of thought, and grabbed one end of the linen, helping me out. There was the bucket on the floor, now filled with fresh water, and in it, a sponge._

_"I'll make a mess all over the floor", I said. I felt inadequate, for some strange reason._

_"Don't worry. Better a wet floor than the bother of carrying a tub all the way in here." I did what I had to do, changed my clothes for much more comfortable ones, green and maroon, and, to my pleasant surprise, boots to carry around on the deck._

_Lilianne walked out and in again, and I really couldn't stay there anymore, feeling the floor move silently in tune with the sea._

_"Can we go out on the deck?"_

_"Of course."_

_Once I was out, I sat down on the stairs leading to the main, feeling imbalanced. I grabbed my head with my hands. "What is this?" Lilianne frowned, but her eyes remained the same, clear as springwater. "_ He _did this, didn't he? What is his occupation exactly?"_

_She mulled over the words in her head, I could see the wheels turning, bending letters until they formed a sound in the shape of an answer. "His occupation, as I have said before, is that of a merchant. But we are all merchants in life, are we not? Giving in exchange for receiving. Because we want things, yet we also need to offer things in turn."_

_"Why are you being evasive? Please tell me he is not some slave dealer." My tone turned low, like whenever I was dreadfully close to crying. That was the last things I needed._

_"_ Mon Dieu _, no! Listen carefully: I would never have come if I thought he was dangerous."_

_"Controlling the weather and my own response to it seems not-dangerous to you?" I breathed in deeply, and the fresh salted air cleared my head._

_Lili laughed, and it was the most delicate thing. "It depends to what end, does it not?"_

_"Yes, but do the ends justify the means?"_

_"Sometimes. Be honest with yourself, if you'd known the reasons people did what they did, you would probably be more lenient with judging them."_

_"Who is he?"_

_"I am not supposed to talk about him."_

_"You share a bed outside marriage, and yet you have no idea who you are dealing with." She glared at me, softly, and it fell flat. "I am right though. You haven't got a clue." I looked around, and the fog was gone. We were in the middle of the ocean, no breeze to push us into any direction. The motion was slow, almost imperceptible. No one in sight, again. "Is there no crew on this ship?" I further inquired, looking Lilianne in the face, daring her to tell me._

_"Of course there is." She sounded indignant, and it made her appear more petulant that I'd thought._

_"Of course. Where is he?" She was of no use, clueless as it were._

_"In his cabin."_

_"May I go speak with him?"_

_"That depends entirely on him."_

_I got up, a little dazed, but managed to grab onto chunks of wood sticking out, onto barrels, and I made my way to his cabin. I knocked, but there was no answer. I was unsure whether to try my luck or not, but I pushed the knob nonetheless, and the door gave, creaking slightly and slowly revealing his uptight and straight posture, lean back facing me. He was writing at his desk, unconcerned with my presence stopping in the threshold, waiting. Pitch black hair fell back and nearly touched his shoulders._

_"Yes?" was my cue to come inside and shut the door. The smell of incense and burnt leaves hit my nostrils and I searched around the room, finding a small tray from which smoke rose, meeting the ceiling in twirling transparent slides._

_"Captain." He kept writing and I found that more disturbing than anything. I approached his desk rather wearily, glancing over his shoulder. The letters looked foreign, indecipherable, and I quirked an eyebrow. He must've felt that with his sixth sense, because that's when he finally turned to face me. The same question in his impassioned eyes:_ Yes? _I cleared my throat, hoping my voice would not quiver. "Captain."_

 _He smirked. The same kind of smirk I had seen on him back in the brothel, when we'd locked eyes. It sent chills down my spine, and I felt cold all of a sudden. He pushed back his chair, the edge of it digging into my hip, forcing me to step sideways. When he sat up and walked round the table, he rearranged his many papers and scripts, putting them in order and folding them. He didn't try to conceal them from my sight, probably acknowledging my obvious_ lack _of knowledge of the used language. With languorous movements, he put them in a drawer, securing it with a lock, key disappearing under his palm and up his sleeve, like a magician's trick. I wanted to sit down, but the only available seat was a chair, and the bed. I much preferred the floor._

_"I feel like I have known you for ages", he finally said, and his voice was like an ice glacier breaking against the ship. "Do you have the same sense in regard of me?"_

_Not exactly. "It really depends, doesn't it?"_

_He smirked. "Yes. It depends on whether or not you know my nature. It is our very nature that we recognize in each other. You are greatly drawn to subjects that the Church repels. That would imply your drawing to me in particular." It seemed to me that he spoke without opening his mouth, somehow elongating his sounds by simply focusing on one point at a time, that point being my very eyes._

_"I do believe you are a magus. Are you not? And, if not a magus, then at least a heathen of some sort."_

_"_ Heathen _?" He laughed, but even his laugh was mirthless and frozen in time. "There are other things in this world you may call me, Angelica, but heathen is not one. I am a most faithful person."_

_"Did you", I stopped myself, trying to come up with the appropriate words, "Did you, by any chance, conjure up the morning mist that enveloped the ship?" His stillness spoke volumes, and it told me that he had, indeed. "Does your crew fear you so that they stay out of sight?"_

_"They do not fear me", he said, and it was followed by his motion of the hand, gesturing me to sit on this stool I had not seen there before. Had it even been there before? "They simply are not acquainted with what I represent. They know not to ask."_

_"Then why am I allowed to ask?" That, in itself, was another question._

_"Why do you think?" His expression, more lenient than before but in no way more human, relaxed a fraction, which made me think that he was, in a small amount, curious whether or not I was, in fact, worthy of asking, and worthy of receiving answers._

_"I think you are a collector of oddities", it was the most appropriate way to describe him, "and I also think that you might find me odd enough to acquire me. Or at least to have me as an apprentice of sorts, rare enough as that is."_

_"And?"_

_"I believe me not interested, Captain Sylvester."_

_"Do not lie to me." His tone was blank, and I tensed._

_I fumbled with a thin leather strap of my dress. I was, in fact, interested. Very much so. Having so much information at my disposal? The cabin was filled with books. Some had worn-out titles, having been read so many times they began to tear at the seams. Other were new and rare and incredibly beautiful. They told of great secrets, and I desperately wished to discover them. But I also knew that he not only had books to offer, but himself as well. He had his own experience speaking for himself, an extinct sort of person, wanderer between the worlds, collecting all that he found interesting on his way._

_"If you give me answers, I just might be interested enough to ask."_

_He hummed, or I thought he did, because the noise was accompanied by the groan of the entire ship, rocking away on the sea. Was he Davy Jones, taking us away on the land of the dead? He certainly had the ambiguity of it, and held the teachings of the passed-away in his hands so effortlessly._

_"I have learnt, just as you shall learn. I too have had a teacher, just as I in turn am to teach."_

_"Why do you have all these things?" I didn't need to point them to him, he knew I was referring to the disconnected pieces of silver, brass, gemstones and carved wood, figurines of lost civilizations._

_"I trade them." I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I did say I was a merchant. I suppose Lilianne must have told you already. I acquire what others cannot, and I offer what other will not. Those who seek these objects also have the means to pay for them in full. And I say to that, why not?" He tilted his head, and now a long straight nose made its way into my line of sight._

_"Where are we headed?"_

_"You have asked that before."_

_"You have given me a general answer. I want a precise one."_

_He smiled, but it was an artificial pull of lip corners. "There is a woman. I would like you to meet her."_

_"Who is she?"_

_He smiled again, only this time it was genuine and warm, breaking the ice that was his self. "My teacher. I am a most grateful student. I promised to bring her more to teach, so I shall."_

_"Am I leverage?" I ask, but I was already on the ship, with no way to get off soon._

_"You are as much as you allow yourself to be." That was my cue. I got up to leave, turning only to slowly nod my head, as a sign of my appreciation. What I appreciated was the small bit that he let be known to me, but I had to make due with what I had been given._

_I found myself wandering on the deck. The sun was up high. The solitude, this time, was pleasing, leaving me to think of Jack and whether he'd managed to stay alive with the other four men in his boat, knowing they had probably done deeds far worse than his. A pause from that was like a balm for my anxious heart. Even so, I wanted to know more, to reach for other souls, to touch them. I wanted to see the crew. I had only seen their shadows, about ten of them, climbing on when we departed shore, but then they vanished. I wanted to see if they had military stiffness in their posture or if they were ordinary men, tools that kept the ship sailing on._

_I went below deck. The kitchen was steamy and hot, smell of fried fish making my mouth water. The cook was there, average-looking man going on with his tasks, not minding me. I sat there, watching him, and he didn't deem me fit for attention. Well, that was alright. I was content with just seeing him work, proving that this was, after all, a normal vessel, and that the Captain was simply eccentric._

_Footstep alerted me to the coming of a person down below to join us. I spared them a glance, and saw it was Lilianne. The way she carried herself, the straight pose of her shoulders, the chin held high and the dignity she exuded from under all the cheap clothes she wore, they whispered of her expensive upbringing. She must've been someone before she became a nun. Which reminded me - I still knew not why exactly she had even left._

_"_ Salut. _"_

 _"_ Salut. _" She sat down next to me, her clear skin glinting in the dim light of a lamp. There were no windows here._

 _"Do you not miss_ sœur _Marie?" I asked her casually._

_"No. Do you?"_

_"No, I don't. Then again, I am not the one who's spent most of her days aiding her."_

_"What exactly have you done, if you do not mind me asking", she turned to face me, "to convince her to let you stay in that house and do what you've been doing there?"_

_I smiled. "I only gave her a small fortune." She looked at me curiously, probably asking herself how a person like me could even be in possession of a small fortune, no less willing to give up on some of it for something like that._

_"It has been wasted money then."_

_"Why would you say that?"_

_"Do you truly think that God's people do business in any lesser manner than King's people?" She made a good point. I sighed and looked ahead, hearing the patient and rhythmical chopping of a celery._

_"Tell me", I said to her, "is that why you've given up on being a nun?"_

_"Do you think I have ever even relented to the thought of being a nun?"_

_"You sound religious."_

_"So do you. And yet I could never see you serve at the altar."_

_I watched her from the corner of my eye, and decided it was time to go. Perhaps I would ask the Captain for some books - the strange man that he was, I had no idea whether it would be more difficult to converse with him or much easier._

_"Do you have the answers now?" She asked me as I was climbing up the stairs to exit the hull. I turned to take her in, and she had a soft glow to her, much like the morning mist that could swallow the mast whole and make it disappear._

_"I have some."_

_The Captain, as it turned out, had no sense of bother. I could knock at any hour of the day or night on his door and he would be there, in his cabin, writing or studying something. I had never once seen him out in the open, amongst the scarce crew or bathing in the hot sun as we approached Spain. An English name on the ship could very well jeopardize our lives, or at the least our journey. England and Spain had been at war for some time now, and the animosity had only grown stronger over the years. We could not pull off a colonial accent - that is to say, either Scotts or Irish - so we could not convince the naval guard to let us pass, were we to want that. That was, as far as I knew, our destination, past the Strait of Gibraltar and into the Mediterranean. Anyhow, the Captain was an ocean of calmness, immobile in his inexpressivity, and even though that bothered me to some extent, it also put me at ease that he felt no concern in regards of our passage through._

_He did allow me to read. Even more so, as he chose the books himself, and told me that it would take at least forty more days to reach our intended location._

_The Spanish had, indeed, not even seen us. One could guess it was because of the strange fog that sheathed the entirety of the Spanish Costas. I had heard of people gathering up the clouds for rain by tapping their feet to the ground, performing dances as offering to nature. Yet I had never seen Captain Silvester do anything of the sorts, as if his mere power of thought could will said fog into existence. It was an idea, but an unusual one at that._

_He preferred alchemical writings._ The Mirror of Alchimy _, a difficult read, he had translated at least in four languages._ Theatrum Chemicum Brittanicum _,_ Don Quijote _, John Milton were obvious choices. He seemed a recluse, bore holes into pages from the monstrous number of times he had read them all in just the short while that I had been aboard. An avid reader, but I thought there was more to it. To read of life and yet miss life altogether, that must be a dreadful existence._

_The days passed slowly and yet not slowly enough. At night the sky was clear, as if Silvester himself decided that it was a sight worth his eyes. At night, it seemed, he came out on deck for about an hour, glancing in the horizon by himself, and then returning to his cabin. I kept my distance, not avoiding him and yet not seeking his presence either. My only companion was Lili, who, although reticent to share with me details of her past, was an adequate conversation partner. She was cultured, which was nor surprising, and immensely spiritual. I did not know when she visited the Captain in his quarters, when they met, because I had never seen them together, to speak or even accompany each other._

_It was at night that I saw a shimmering light in the distance, a small dot in the blackness of the sea, melting into the dark blue of the sky. It was a flame, so it must've been a populated place. No one walked over past me and into the Captain's Cabin to inform him of approaching land, and yet it was he who came out and announced it, as if he could very well see it from the confinement of his wooden chambers._

_"Where is this?"_

_"We are here", he said, and I found that he knew the exact coordinates. The Woman, as he called her, was probably on shore, waiting for him. I, for once, thought Lilianne was privy to this information, but then I saw her next to me and she seemed the least bit surprised._

_It was almost break of dawn when we threw anchor, the men making no sound as they stepped around, like ghosts on a ghost ship. If I hadn't been on it, stories of such display would have raised hairs on my arms._

_It was green. The lit torch had died out until we arrived. The pastels of the sky infused the water with the same soft tones, a gleaming hope that surrounded the entire island. It was rather small, but big enough to hold a semblance of a port and one large city. Sails down, we stepped on the docks one by one, and the quiet was eerie. As Lilianne made to join me down on the shore, Captain Silvester stopped her with the back of his hand in front, eyeing her closely and, it appeared, silently asking her to be careful. She nodded, and then she remained somewhere to his side, waiting. Waiting for what?_

_I did not know why I poised myself in front of them, as if I had any authority or function. I only realized my mistake when a figure appeared from behind some trees, dressed all in brown, striding over in such a manner that I thought they were royalty._

_Up-close, this person - a woman - was anything but._

_Much rather, she had swarthy skin that shone in the vague morning light, a tint of orange caught on her cheek. Her braided hair fell imposing down her back, and she had the presence of a goddess. A dress that seemed torn, but was, in fact, very different from a design point of view from our own dresses, held her small waist and cupped her breasts, small mounds of delicate flesh that promised of a young and ripe body._

_Her face, though, a sharp glare, enchanting and beguiling, and black lips that grinned at the sight of us. Her chin and forehead were painted, intricate patterns that formed symbols and raised even more questions._

_As I had been assessing her, so had she. The Woman, I supposed she was. She looked me up and down, and her expression revealed nothing._

_"Silver", she finally said, and her voice was like the creaking of a ship, both frightening and calming, keeping me on my toes, "welcom back." Her accent was off, and actually I was surprised she even knew English. We were far off from British land and had been for some time. It was the beginning of autumn, if my calculations were correct, but here the weather was always the same._

_Silvester strode over to her and kissed the back of her hand, lingering to look in her eyes, the feeling in his own astonishing me. So, Silver was he as it was obvious, and he was so closely intimate with this woman that he allowed himself emotions._

_"Yes, Rán, thank you. This", he brought me closer, more like dragged me next to him, seeing that I decided to stay so very close to the entire scene, "is Angelica. I have brought her to you."_

_I didn't know what to do. I held out my hand, but the woman - Ron? Rán? - simply glanced at it as if it were not part of my body. Her grin stayed in place, but it was more menacing than before, and I wanted to retract my hand and just find my way back to_ Velocity _. This was ridiculous._

_But Rán took my hand and turned it over, opening it. Tracing a line with her very sharp fingernail - painted black or naturally black, I knew not - and leaving a red trail in place. My impulse was to fight her grip, but I forced myself not to. It would have probably been very rude to do so, and I was in no position to be permitted insolence._

_"At wee hourz za small man shall com. 'E'll plague yer tauts and steal yer body, but yer 'eart be gone fer someone else. Zis man coms to kill, no' save, and za savio's he kill fo' 'imzelf, no' mankind." It was utter rubbish, or at least that's how it sounded, but I found myself intrigued, lulled by her way of speaking. She paused for the effect of her words to sink in, then pushed the lower cushion of my palm, and hummed. "Lest be known 'e coms, ya shall no' find dead, yet no' shall ya live."_

_"Alright", I said rather harshly, interrupting her in the process. She looked up at me sharply, and my body froze. I felt a tingling in my hand, so I realized that patience is a virtue. "I suppose I'll know the man when I see him."_

_"No", she said, letting go of my hand. It dropped limp by my side. She turned her head to Silvester, who had been glancing between she and I during the whole ordeal. "She be needin' za discipline. Com." She swirled to leave, and Silvester followed her without question. I looked back at Lilianne, and she seemed not to know whether to come along. She would be alright, I though, so I hurried my pace to catch up with Silvester and Rán._

_Behind the line of trees was a line of men. All of them perched in positions, straight and with spear-like staffs in their hands, ready to pounce if ordered. I thought, then, that this must have been Tunisia, or somewhere nearby._

_I tensed when I passed a particularly stone-faced man, and kept weary until we reached this hut. The forest shade was subtle, and it cooled my fervent thoughts and anxieties._

_When I stepped foot into the hut, one billion questions crowded my mind, not letting any space for breath, and I gasped. The things that I saw, the maps and statuettes, the bells handing from the ceiling, the immense globe in the centre of the room, these stole my sight in an instant. But then, on a secondary plane, there were the books, old and crumpled, yellowing from old and smelling of dust. Manuscripts lay in one corner, piled on top of each other, and I would have touched them had I been certain their papyrus would not crumble at the smallest of winds._

_This small clay bowl, left on a large wooden table, was filled with bones and jewels. Or, rather than jewels, they were quartz and lapislázuli, raw and beautifully splattered amongst the greying claws - chicken, perhaps, but then I thought of Rán's nails that looked also like claws, and how she herself was not unlike a hawk, undecipherable and utterly dangerous in her mystery. I smelled herbs, and the earthy scent brought back memories of France. I glanced at the door, and it seemed that either Lilianne had chosen not to join us, or she had not been allowed to. Silvester made himself invisible in a corner, and Rán let herself fall into a chair. It creaked and her body, now engulfed by it, seemed rather small. I had one moment to assess the fact that she must have been shorter than I in height, yet her power, her eyes especially, made her bigger than life. "Com, sit", she said to me, and a chair materialized in front of her own, out of where I had no idea, and I took measured steps to approach it. When I sat down, I was careful not to disturb the silence, be it as it were, accompanied by the hushed blow of the sea breeze outside. The light came in through the windows in small fractions, and the atmosphere seemed to me neutral, able to shift and go either way, down or up, entirely according to how I acted. I folded my hands in my lap, wanting to avert my gaze from hers, but realizing I could not. She truly was a witch then. "Ask away", she said, leaning back in her chair, allowing me to do the opposite, to take a closer look at her, at the line of her cheekbones, at her full lips, at the thick hair framing her otherwise childish face. It was odd, that it was her character alone that defined her, transformed her into what she was, something beyond human comprehension. Yes, indeed I had questions._

_"Where are we?" Seemed the most appropriate one to begin with._

_"Iz dat of any importance?"_

_"I believe so." If my voice wavered, she did not seem to care._

_"We are on an island. Az ya can see, da sea iz wide above za shore, za wind blows almost no' a' all, and za sky iz clear. Wut doz dat tell ya?"_

_"It tells me what I already know. That this is the Mediterranean."_

_She quirked her mouth, and white teeth showed underneath. "Wut else can ya see?"_

_I thought about it. "This is not Spanish territory. Nor English, otherwise you would not roam freely as you do. Even if we did travel longer, meaning we would have approached either Greece or Turkey or northern Africa, this is not Greek land, and you are not arabs." They were a small, minuscule rather, municipality in the middle of nowhere. She walked like a queen, as I had noticed before, and the men on the shore acted as her most loyal subjects. Self-organized people on a remote island. "Is this an unoccupied space?"_

_"When ya say unoccupied, ya tink no' claimed by great powers, aye?"_

_"Yes."_

_"An' yet it iz occupied by us."_

_"Are_ you _a great power?"_

_She closed her eyes, and it unsettled me. What she could do with her eyes closed might very well be worse than what she could with them wide and open._

_"Wut iz power?" Her head back, she needed not see me at all. I sighed._

_"It depends. What I meant was influence."_

_"Den why do ya no' say wut ya mean?" At my being silent, she continued. "Say ya got za manpower to bring down za entire world to its knees. But ya choose not to. Does dat make it any less power dan za force of za so-called civilized barbarians?"_

_"No", I said, and she looked content with the answer._

_"Do ya wish for power?"_

_"Have you always got it?" I divert. Her head bows and she was looking me in the eye. "This power. Has it always simmered in your bones, waiting to be claimed, or have you only recently come across it?"_

_She grinned that feral grin, like a shark. "Ya ask if we were slaves. Aye. We were." She then looked at Silvester, who had at some point become one with the decorum. "Ya 'ave brought me treasure dis time, boy. She might just be enuf t'even out ze odds." He, for once, looked both apprehensive and hopeful. Oh, but this was really interesting, because then that meant that his playing with water molecules in the air had been nothing compared to what she could do._

_"Am I part of a trade?" I found myself asking. They both looked at me, and Rán smiled, less predatory than before._

_"Ya're as much as ya allow yerself tah be."_

_The words echoed in my head. I asked myself, in the back of my mind, what exactly had I treaded into. But I ignored that question, because right now I was significantly more occupied with getting up and circling the globe. Holden specks adorned it, and it was evidently expensive. Some of the things in the room, I knew, were the kind that Silvester would acquire._

_"Yet what exactly are my choices here?" I muttered as I opened some drawers, hoping to find something that gave away more than these two. There was nothing. There was a small black skull - I had heard of practices like this - and an ash container; a vase, blue and yellow, with images depicting a battle; herbology books, with plants unknown to me, pressed between thin files; a crystal ball, small enough to fit my hand, heavy enough to crack a head._

_"Choices? Ya are za choice, Angelica. Ya 'ave been chosen." I almost laughed._

_"Chosen, you say? I believe the events unfolded rather backwards, I'm afraid. It was I who chose to ask the Captain to take me with him."_

_"Destiny lies abov such tings as free will."_ _I had worked alongside Destiny for so long, that I had gotten rather bored with it. I much preferred self-threaded Fate, she was more honest and clear in her consequences._

_"So", I decided to speak carefully, as to not upset such strange waters, "if I am to be part of a trade, I as well am required to trade. What is it that you want from me?"_

_"Do ya tink ya 'ave anyting t'offer me? Ya alone are ma payment. Wut I wan' iz fer ya to listen when I speak, t' learn when dere iz someting wort learning. Wut I offer ya iz da illusion."_

_"The illusion of what?"_

_"Ov life an' dead, ma sweet." That intrigued me. It also probably showed on my face, as Rán's eyes became two slits of delight at the sight of me. I had finally reached a locked drawer, and she raised to join me. I felt rather threatened with her by my side, but she simply made a key appear in her hand, much like Silvester had made one disappear back on the ship, and she opened the drawer with ease. Some vials, some powders, some perfumes. "Poison", she said, and my head snapped to her, eyes wide, "to fool dem all an' den 'ave dem killed wit water, if dat iz wut ya wan'."_

_"I am not a killer", I said automatically, as my conscience had taught me over the years. I am not a killer, not when it was not necessary. I didn't think it could ever be necessary._

_She laughed, and the sounds was that of broken glass and lava. I jumped back when I heard it, immediately chastising myself at such a display of fright. "We all are killers. We just don' act on it da same. When da time coms, believe me, ya will kill. If dat means ya live, ya will kill anyone. I am merely a tutor, showing ya 'ow t'do it witou' getting caught. Or, 'ow t'survive if someone plans t'do ya in."_

_"Is that what you saw?" I couldn't help myself. "When you read my palm? Is someone going to try and kill me?"_

_"A' sum point", she said, "Ev'ryone will."_

_Well. What a comfort._

_Silvester seemed to remember himself then, because he stepped out of the shadows and next to us both. Searching for something in his coat, he said, rather gravely, "These are for you", and he gave the woman a set of papers. I recognized them as having the same type of unknown letters on them as the ones I spotted on the Captain's desk. They had been meant for her, after all._

_"Ah, tank ya", and her face gleamed with joy at the sight of them. Page after page, she read through the lines, and then she asked me, "D'ya like stories?"_

_"Stories?... Yes, who doesn't?"_

_"Aye, stories keep men an' woman alive wit wondah, hmm", and she put them all in another drawer._

_"Do you need me for anything else?" Silverster interfered, trying to take his leave. His hands, clasped behind his back, were gripping hard at each other, making his arms strain._

_She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, seemingly thinking of toying with him a while longer. "Wut iz it t'me if ya leave now o' later? Don't ya need supplies a' all? Are ya really dat powerful yet?"_

_"Of course. I shall ask your men to prepare some bags and coffers with seeds and fresh fruit. But I have affairs to deal with up north and they have already waited long enough."_

_"An' yer friend? It iz rude, ya kno', t'keep 'er away from me. Ya kno' I don' bite." He almost scoffed at her words. This was unfolding rather nicely. I decided I had something to say as well regarding Lili._

_"Is she still on shore?" Silvester glared at me, sharp and quick, and it gave me great satisfaction. "I suppose she is not to be disposed of here, as you are to do with me. Which means I would rather like being able to say good-bye to her."_

_After getting out of the hut without a word, not even a minute passed and Silvester reappeared with Lilianne by his side. When Rán laid eyes on her, any spark of interest died and an expression of absolute boredom took over. I ignored it, and looked over at Lili. We settled for a furtive embrace, and she went back on the beach. She and Silvester were to sleep on the ship, even if it was anchored and not going anywhere for at least one day._

_I was left by myself in the hut. Rán looked at me expectantly, or rather studying me in great detail. When her eyes reached my nether regions, a gleam appeared in her black irises, and her hand shot out to cup between by legs. A yelp escaped me and I went to stagger back, but she would not let me. What the hell, I thought, this woman was out her mind._

_"Wut do we 'ave here, hmm?" He felt at my mound, probing, and sheer pain sprung through me at the sensation. "I doubt ya to opt fo' tribal practices, ma sweet. Me tinks ya might be hiding yer life's last resort inside yerself, aye?" The heat of her hand vanished as soon as it appeared, and my heart was still pounding in my chest, making it hard for me to think of anything that wasn't_ run _. "Ya already kno' da tricks. Now I'll only set ya up for da stage. Seven mon's should be 'nuf."_

_A full-bodied shiver ran through me, and I glared at the woman. How could she have known? How much of her antics were real and how much a performance?_

_It turned out that Silvester and Lilianne were, indeed, fucking. It would have been hard picturing that man morphing his face into anything sembling pleasure, had it not been for wat I had seen at that table in the brothel. The way his eyes bore into me, the way his fingers dug into the flesh of the redhead, claiming her and drawing moans out of her, letting loose some of his own - he was a man, after all, his stone-cold expression a mere ruse._

_What I had not suspected, even though I should have, was that he and Rán had once been lovers. That is what she had told me, at least. An initiation practice, she called it, but it was another way of saying she'd wanted him and so she'd had him._

_It had been far easier to decipher her than many others I had encountered throughout my life. Rán was far from being a surface-personality - her character and mannerisms went as deep as one would expect. And yet, her unpredictability made her entirely predictable. I had spent at least ten years of my life gauging what people desired most out of them, and becoming that very thing. I was forced to become a child and an aid for George, I had to be the malleable and yet resourceful with my clients, I was, in fact, to extract their very thoughts from their minds before they'd even acknowledged them, because otherwise I'd have had to lean on someone other than me, and no one else was trustworthy enough._

_And now, it was clear as day that I needed to play the student for this woman who very obviously had no family of her own. Her soldiers, who went about the island and did her bidding out of either fear or respect, were simply tools that at her disposal. They had no will of their own, they all looked the same, they all had the same goal, and that was to fulfill hers. Well-oiled machines, yet I had never even glimpsed emotion in their eyes, or a scowl on their lips._

_"Who are you to them?" I once asked her, and she gave me a smile, proud and lonely and empty of real joy._

_"Tanit never saw any else but za winds an' za sea. And when she saw more, she turned t' war."_

_I had since coming here seen more statuettes of the two deities, Tanit and Baal. I asked what they stood for, but no answer was given. I had to search through the farthest row of books there was in the large library that Rán owned, for me to find something of good use. These people were secretive people, hidden away in plain sight, yet no one could bare to see them. Secretive people were dangerous people, yet at one point I had thought that this very danger was the one needed to keep me safe._

_My lessons consisted in sneaking out during the night and stealing apples from the market's boxes and bringing them to Rán without getting caught. I hadn't understood the importance of this at the time, and it seemed to me that I was simply a slave again, there to satisfy a woman's fantastical whims, to bring her fruit that she could have very well procured by herself and amuse her if I failed._

_Of course I failed. The very first time I went out and was told to keep to the shadows, my footing was too heavy. People heard me, and I had been chased for about half a mile until I finally got to Rán's hut, panting and yelling at her to explain to them that it had been she who sent me._

_She remained silent when they came to complain about me. She regarded them with a stern look, but then again, so did she me. It was not fair._

_"Never get caught, an' ya don' need to make any excuses."_

_I later learnt to step lightly onto the cobblestones, to hide better in-between house walls, to snatch things when no one was looking._

_Stealing had been the first thing that she taught me._

_"Ya're a good liar", she said to me afterward, "when ya lie ya've more confidence dan when ya don't. Dat, ya cannot change. Wut I can tell ya den iz to always lie, so no one sees da difference." It couldn't have been good advice. A good piece of advice would have been for her to tell me never to lie; the result would have been the same. Yes, it was not good, but it was useful. I knew, I was more a liar than I was an honest person._

_"And how does one lie with no break?" I asked her._

_"Well, one forgets oneself, of course."_

_So I had to forget myself completely._

_"Even when ya drown", she said to me when two months had passed, "ya need to 'member who ya are in dat moment. Never let yerself slip. And even when ya die, ya need t' make sure dat ya don't." That I don't what? I wanted to ask her, but she beat me to it. "Today I'm to show ya da most important trick ya'll ever use. Dat iz, to create an illusion."_

_Given I was already versed in what concerned herbal medicine and unorthodox cures, she decided to teach me the opposite of what I had taught myself all those years._

_"Take dis every night in very small doses", a white powder it was, small vial transparent and slippery. "Once yer body gets used to it, ya can count on using it."_

_It was cyanide, I knew. I was not confident in surviving it. How much was too much? And how little was useless? Not once in my life had I thought of needing to poison anyone, but I could see how that might unfold. And what if someone tried to poison me? Such a resistance, Rán told me, to an enormously damaging substance would surely confer me the image of untouchability._

_The first night I used this, I almost died. The sour taste on my tongue was mild in the beginning, but then it amplified, and burnt my mouth. I needed water, I was in desperate need of water, but Rán laid me on the bed and tucked me in. I was convulsing, but she did nothing to stop it. Moreover, she tied my wrists to the bedpost, refusing me the right to go and fight for my life - fight whom? where were they? The enemies were all over and I wanted to thrash and kick, but my arms strained with the effort, weakening each passing minute. It went on for hours, or at least that is what my distorted perception of time was telling me, and my breath stopped several a time. More than once, I thought I was done for._

_I hated Rán for it. No lesson in the world was worth that experience._

_My fever and random mumbles ceased after a while. I was left with tremors, body shaking from feeling both cold and got at the same time. The night was long and hard, but I did manage to overcome it._

_In the morning, I saw Rán had been staying by my side. "Do you care at all?" I asked her, but I was not sure my croaked voice was heard. She looked at me with tired eyes, a small smile crinkling their corners, and unlocked the chains on my wrists. The skin was raw and bloodied, and I rubbed it to unnumb it._

_I had to go through the same ordeal for a month. The first half of that month had been excruciating. The second half, much more bearable. I could, after all this time, understand why she tortured me like this, making me immune to all sorts of chemicals._

_"Ya're no one's child", she explained, "so ya need to be yer own."_

_"Where will I go after this?" I asked. I felt my ribs expanding with an intake of breath. I had lost weight here, because of each night's exertions._

_"Ya'll go where life leads ya." I despised her answers. Relying on fate had never been my forte. I knew I could never enter high-class society or mingle with educated peers in circles of any value. I knew I could not step foot in England or France, I knew all these things. I knew I did not want to remain here either, on on secluded island of the Kerkennah, with men who thought their own leader a goddess._

_"Is that in the far west by any chance?"_

_The months passed. Rán had been telling me stories. I was quite certain I now knew of every legend there was about marine monsters, sea snakes and gods of the ancient._

_I had asked her, "But why is your name as it is? Rán is not an African name, nor is it Arabic."_

_She said, "But what's in a name? Besides oder's projection ov deir own beliefs ov ya, what's in a name? I am Rán 'cause I am married to Ægir, I am Tanit fo' I married da war o' silence, an' dis war I fight by loaning my net to da collector, who coms yearly an' gives me tribute. I am who I want ta be fo' dem who believe it. A name is not a location. Fo' ya, I assume, I am just a woman, as I should be."_

_"And what of Leviathan?" I asked. "Do you care to explain it? How you carry yourself proclaiming power over the Serpent of the Sea, coiled around the Earth. Why would anyone claim to have such control? It it part of the belief?"_

_"Leviatan, ma sweet, is dee unknown dat men fear. What dey know no' becoms monster, an' what dey know becoms family. What's no' family is a be'emot, an' den even family can be monstous in its way."_

_"And if one has no family?"_

_She eyed me then. "Ya can go now. Silver shall com in a week's time an' collect ya." I pursed my lips and got up. We had not become friends, but I learnt to tolerate her to a certain extent. To expect when she would be quiet or when she would give me a speech. I knew not to inquire any further. I had gotten rather tired of her these two hundred days, and I just wanted out. Again, out again, always on the move, someplace with people and diversity and freedom. A murmur escaped her as I was going for my tent outside her hut, and yet I caught it either way. "The Serpent, ya should kno', is yerself."_

_Silvester arrived in about six days. It was mid-spring and Hydra was high up in the sky, chaperoning the ship back home while at night. It was a cool evening, I was feeling more revigorated than ever, and was ready to take leave any second._

_"I take it you behaved", Silvester said in stead of a greeting. I wasn't sure which of us he was addressing, but his presence their, in a very weird way, brought a sense of normalcy back. It was as if he were much worldlier than the woman who stayed hidden behind a veil of haze brought down by her own power of will. "You've grown taller", he added, taking a look at me, "and more restless. Have your hands no better use?"_

_"Whatever do you mean?"_

_"Come on now, give it back." I sighed, giving him the ring. He'd been wearing it on his left little finger ever since we'd first met, and its sheer stayed with me until now, when I thought of showing off my newly-acquired skills, half-hoping that he wouldn't notice. "It's been a while since anyone has even dared to do something of the sorts to me. Are you a thief now as well, in addition to being a fugitive?" My flabbergasted expression must've amused him, as he huffed a laugh and his eyes crinkled, a softer look on his face. "Townsfolk talk. I had known about Victor Caron's disappearance probably before it even happened. Troubled fellow. Must've deserved whatever it is that he's got thrown at him, I'd imagine." I had almost forgotten all about Caron. The smell of him, crazed and mad like a dog, pushing me against the desk and threatening me with a broken bottle - I could still feel it all. And then the blood, the relief; the satisfaction, even. Did Silvester think I had murdered him?_

_But what did it matter what Silvester thought of me? Was it not he who brought me here in the first place, to have me taught in the arts of felony? Was it not he who had once been referred to by Lilianne as a merchant with business dubious at the very least?_

_"Think whatever you wish, Captain Silvester. We depart in the morning, do we not?" As if I were saying, it is all the same either way. And it was, it really was._

_Silvester had a proud tilt of his cheek, upward almost, and then he just turned to Rán and kissed her hand, like he had done before. The contrast between her dark skin and his sun-depraved one was inexplicably ravishing, especially in the deem light of the room. He looked like the moon, and she, the night. I could have written poetry about that very moment, when his lips touched her skin, and her fingers gripped harder at the hold of his hand. Some things never change, and that is human nature._

_In the morning I left. Having a woman on-board seemed a trifle thing to Silvester's men, who just went about their business as they had on our way to the island, unconcerned with internal affairs, or with external ones at that. In fact, I had no idea where their concerns lay, and if they even had any._

_"Are your men spirits trapped on this ship, doomed to sail under your command?" I had meant it as a joke, but it came out as a rather serious question. Silvester laughed, nonetheless._

_"Do you make me to be Davy Jones now?" Well, it wasn't as though I hadn't thought about it._

_"If Rán can be a goddess, why can't you be a damned man who guides the souls of those who died at sea?"_

_"Where is that place that I might guide them to?"_

_"Dalmatian, I assume, cannot come in the form of heaven."_

_"Ah, but damnation can very well take on the appearance of heaven."_

_"Hell often appears as heaven. That does not make it so."_

_"That is well and true, Angelica." There was a comfortable silence as we stayed there, my elbows digging into the mast as he, of course, stood straight with hands behind his back. I had not expected to find any sort of comfort with this man, who seemed so cool and unaffected, and yet I had, and it felt natural. It was all about nature, in the end, and our ability to recognize it._

_"Where to now?"_

_"You are a nomad by blood", he told me, but his slight smirk told me not to take offense. "I need to find harbour in London first. After we get there, we'll go to Port Royal and from there you'll be on your own."_

_"Why London?"_

_"Why not?"_

_"I_ _am reticent when it comes to big, civilized cities on British territory. They seem far too exposing."_

_"There is nothing civilized about London." He side-eyed me for a moment, and when he found what he was looking for - who knew what that was - he sighed. "It will only be a short halt. There is a man there, expecting me to deliver. He will be joining us." I must've looked awfully surprised for a second, as he continued, "He is not in the least interested in who you might be, were he to make acquaintance with you. You could be anything - a sister, a friend, a whore, a distraction; none of it is important to men who actually have brains in their heads. It is only those pretentious and yet lacking that find use in stating that a lady has more say than the butcher's girl." I found the way he enumerated the possible epithets to describe me rather rude and unsettling. I had been called a whore so many a time, but then, as I was a girl alone on a ship full of grown men, I felt more it than ever. It was, however, of no consequence._

_"How do they know when to let the sails up and when to tie them down to the mast? Do they not need your command?" I tried to divert the discussion back to the subject of his shadow crew._

_"They know what to do and when to do it."_

_"Are you not their captain?" I tried him._

_He smiled, unclasping his hands from behind his back, and turning as if to leave and go to his cabin once more. "Mystery, you'll find, is a greater captain than any man."_

_I was left alone to gaze down at the lulling waves hitting the hull. The sound, splash-splash, repetitive and soothing, like the beat of my heart, the life of a ship. Droplets sprung onto my coat and darkened it where water lay, while the salt lightened its wet margins. All around us was blue, blue of such a vastness that I felt dizzy. Distancing myself from the edge, I thought, London, capital of uncivilization, may your wrath nie descend upon me._


End file.
